A Cocktail Of Dreams
by TheMythOfMe
Summary: Elena Gilbert is embarking on a new career within the streets of Manhattan. Fearless, strong, and independent, her world soon begins to crumble when Damon Salvatore (A notorious celebrity) begins an unraveling game of sex, lies, and love. [The Vampire Diaries with a Sex and The City edge / Rated M for future scenes.]
1. Moschino in Manhattan

**[Disclaimer - I do not own the copyrights to the original characters or plot, those belong to the CW and The Vampire Diaries producers. This is simply a story conjured from my own imagination, and for that, those are the only rights I own. **

**Synopsis - Elena Gilbert is embarking on a new career within the streets of Manhattan. Fearless, strong, and independent, her world soon begins to tumble when Damon Salvatore (Celebrity elite) begins an unraveling game of sex, lies, and love.] **

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><p>To say that New York was busy, was an understatement.<p>

It was once called 'the city that never sleeps' - yet I disagreed with this, after all, everybody is sleeping with somebody, right?

New York was a scandalous city, overrun with scandalous celebrities, and owned by the scandalous elite. It was no surprise to why we owned as many journalists as we did, all ready for the fresh scoop, the big story, the _career changing article_.

That being said, I didn't like to think of myself as a journalist, they were branded as just judgmental, and I was never going to be _just judgmental_. I was a cup of hot chocolate to your bitter coffee, the night-in to your night-out, and the Vouitton to your Velcro. So when the day came that I wouldn't be classified as a journalist no more, you could say there was relief, mixed with excitement, and a little bit of '_oh-my-god-what-is-happening_'.

I celebrated this on the corner of 3rd Avenue, dressed in Moschino, and drinking a mocha; creamy, chocolatey, and sweetened enough to pinch many lips. It went down as smooth as silk.

To my left sat a good friend of mine, Bonnie Bennett. Part-time artist, part-time Barista, and part-time feminist. She believed in equal rights, breakfast for dinner, and hated the whole white-picket-fence-fantasy. She was the more reasonable out of the two of us, the angel on my shoulder, the realist to my fatalist. _The salt to my pepper_.

And on my right was Caroline Forbes. Blonde bombshell and father of thee notorious 'Forbes' magazine. She was unlike Bonnie in every way possible, she wanted the husband, the three children with freakishly smart IQ's, the perfect pancake breakfast every morning. You'd be surprised two people like them would gel so well, but hey, opposites attract.

And who was I out of our (non-sexual) threesome? The one who people depended on? The glue? The three-am-call? No, I was just Elena, the not-so _just journalist_.

"Are you nervous?" Questioned Caroline, interrupting my in-depth reverie.

She was stirring her latte with a long spoon, peering over at me through rose-colored sunglasses. _The irony_.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed Bonnie was also watching my expression, as if waiting for a stream of tears to pour out, followed by a declaration of longing for my old job.

"I'm excited to start this new place, I worked for that company for three years and not once was I recognized, let alone promoted. I need to focus on my career, it's why I moved to Manhattan."

Virginia seemed such a long way away, with it's outstretched greenery, porch swings, and fruit floating lemonade. It was the American dream, right down to the very last fundraiser detail, but for me? An unchanging nightmare. I woke up resenting the day, everything was predicted, foreseen, guessed, even the school curriculum was a decade behind. Within a week of hitting eighteen, I was on a plane, flying away from predictability and towards the marvelous Manhattan.

"We both want you to be happy, baby. No matter what." Bonnie smiled, a smile that said everything and nothing at the same time. It was her way of sharing support, and if I didn't need it now, I can't imagine a time when I would ever.

The beverages were paid for, the bags were slung over shoulders, and as we wandered down the street, a sense of warmth floated innerly. Here was Elena Gilbert, friend, columnist, and clothe expert. I couldn't of been happier.

"Hey, wait." Caroline stopped her stride, fumbling about in her sequin purse. It vibrated with an apparent call, and she reached her mobile just in time, flipping open the cover.

"Hello?" She breathlessly greeted, catching up with myself and Bonnie as we strolled.

"I bet you ten dollars it's Matt." Bonnie taunted in my ear, a small amount of amusement in her sarcastic tone.

"You're on." I whispered in reply.

Everything seemed perfect, and with that came dreaded paranoia. There hadn't been any use of plan B's, or plan C's, D's, E's-... _the list is went on_. Was it natural to feel so uneasy?

Perhaps it was the nerves, I thought, glancing down to check for coffee stains.

I was dressed in black, a color that can never go wrong. The slinky material wrapped and enhanced my thin waist, curvaceous hips, and lengthened legs, and despite the consistent dip in my confidence, I felt good, ready.

But nervous again.

"That was Matt." Caroline informed breathlessly, as if the conversation itself entailed running around Central Park. Bonnie - from the corner of my scowling eyes - was smug, an extra leap in her heeled step.

"What did he want?" She questioned.

"I have to go... His mom is in hospital." Caroline paused her stride, clutching the mobile device with necessary strength. She looked as if she wanted to cry, and even though she had never met his mom, I knew what was so upsetting.

Caroline had been dating the same guy for five years, they originally met through the wealth of their parents, though through the duration of their relationship, there had been a lot of 'plan B's'. He disapproved of Bonnie and I, we were apparently bad influences on the Stepford Wife status he was brainwashing her into. Though alas, through countless bottles of wine - aka, therapy - and tear soaked tissues, Caroline seemed to allow Matt to weasel his way back in. As per usual.

So with the hope that he'd eventually offer her the Suburban-family-fantasy, Caroline clung onto the hope that one day she would meet his parents, be offered a ring the size of a coffee mug, and have a June wedding. From what I could guess, she did not want to be meeting his mother for the first time in a hospital bed.

"Take this as an opportunity-" Bonnie began, seeming to have the same thoughts as I did. "-you could never have the chance to meet her again. Hell, me and Elena thought he killed, he's been keeping her and his father a secret for so damn long-"

Shoving her shoulder, Bonnie staggered in her wedges. "Shut up."

Caroline's peach glossed lips pinched together, her large eyes crystallizing with tears. Sauntering forward, I embraced her with gentle affection, feeling a small patter of water hitting my shoulder. "Hey, Care. It's going to be okay, at least he wants you there." I comforted.

She sniffled, still partially speechless.

Bonnie raised her arm, the screech of wheels on tarmac indicating a haled taxicab. Caroline retrieved and concealed her emotions, reaching over to give Bonnie and I's hand a gentle squeeze, silently thanking, before whisking towards the familiar yellow.

We shared a look of almost guilt as Caroline departed, perhaps I should have offered to go with her?

"I know what you're thinking, but Caroline is strong. This day is about you."

Her bronzed cheeks twitched upward as she offered a reassuring smile, yet again, saying nothing but everything. Glancing down to note the time, the wristband watch indicated it had just gone past one pm.

Snapping my head upward, Bonnie's hand was already in the air, chasing down another flash of yellow.

"You still owe me ten bucks, kid." She smirked.

"I'll pay you back tonight. Pizza, my place, seven o'clock. I have a feeling Caroline's going to need it." Sashaying my way towards the purring vehicle, Bonnie's waving hand was the last thing I saw before the taxicab lurched, and diverged into traffic.

"Where you headin'?" Grunted the cabby.

"Hearst Cooperation. It's my first day at Cosmopolitan."

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><p>It was larger than I would've anticipated. After the introduction and small tour of the downstairs lobby and cafeteria, the clerk - dressed in pearly silk - presented me with an ID card. To the left was 'ELENA GILBERT: COLUMNIST' (Thank God, now I can ditch the journalist title for good.) and to the far right, was an identification picture, and barcode. I had sent in my recently purchased passport photograph the week before, and if it was good enough for Cosmopolitan, it was good enough for me. Although, my hair was curved and designed into a pretty ponytail, and earrings were hooped and long, my glasses were a major downfall.<p>

_Yes, glasses. _

I had always hated wearing them, though was assigned to have a pair within my first year in New York. "For reading purposes only." The optician pleaded, practically forcing the spectacles into my purse. My life revolved around reading, writing, basically having a pen in my hand. Though between the consistent headaches and blurriness of my vision, I eventually settled on wearing them. On occasions, that is.

The main corridor was dressed with framed photographs of previous/successful covers, large celebrity names autographed underneath every image, indicating some 'I was here, I love the magazine' support. Doors with important titles were planted here and there, including an incredible golden one located just at the end of the hall, with _MRS COSMOPOLITAN _printed above the glass. Momentarily transfixed on the glamor of this first floor, I almost forgot my reason being here.

"M'am?" Came from a distant corner. Whirling around to see a short female with shocking white hair, it was styled straight, and would've been boring had it been any other color. She flashed a toothpaste clean smile, and gestured me to stand before the glass desk.

"Did the lady downstairs give you an ID card?" She asked, her hand extended. Handing over the rectangular plastic, the receptionist scanned it across her computer, and with an accepting beep, she offered it back. Tucking the ID back into my leather purse, I was directed to wait for prior moments until the boss - aka, _MRS COSMOPOLITAN _- was ready to see me.

Remaining stood, I began - out of interest - studying the famous faces enlarged on every wall. Paula Abwel, Samantha Tigs, Ryan Serow, Katherine Pierce... Katherine Pierce, who was apparently my celebrity look alike (according to Caroline) was mid-May's issue. There was the famous, there was the elite, and then there was women like Katherine Pierce, or K-P, as she's known. Model, actress, singer, business woman, Caroline's father did a spread about how wealthy and what a strong leader Katherine is last fall, she was everything and anything the pre-teen female species longed to be.

There was a throat clearance from behind, and when turning to greet where it indicated from, the lady behind the company's success was standing in her gold framed doorway.

Mrs Cosmopolitan was tall, with Marilyn Monroe's lazy yet sexy eyes, and lusciously large lips. She looked abnormally beautiful, too beautiful to be behind a magazine.

"Miss Gilbert?" The woman gestured, opening the door for my arrival. "Welcome to Cosmopolitan."


	2. Brewed Awakening

**[Disclaimer - I do not own the copyrights to the original characters or plot, those belong to the CW and The Vampire Diaries producers. This is simply a story conjured from my own imagination, and for that, those are the only rights I own.]  
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><p>West Village was a neighborhood in the New York borough of Manhattan, it was classic, refreshing, and oozed with character. In the center of West Village was Perry Street, melting with an equal amount of ambience, it continued - to this day - to make me just as breathless when coming home. Through the Autumn season, leaves were on a consistent downfall, like pelting rain or a hurricane of ice and snow, they'd descend, creating a river of orange, red, and star-bright-yellow.<p>

But as I unscrewed the cork to a well-earned bottle of wine, the sight of summer was still very much noticeable. Beyond the largest window was a peanut butter sky - the sun gradually setting - it resembled what I would've perceived to be the inside of a comet, so many unexplainable shades, I felt as if I had a front row seat in experiencing what others couldn't. I loved New York, and even more-so, I loved what it offered.

I had owned the same apartment for the past three years. Upon arriving, I was told by a real estate agent to look for something furthest from the downtown scene, she even offered Brooklyn, but that wasn't what I wanted. In Virginia, I had worked morning till night, saving wages and tips, planning out the future whilst others planned for the present. And with the money saved, I knew my biggest conquest would be finding the right place, the home I belonged to, the home I would cherish with every fiber in my body. I had discarded her advice, I wanted somewhere with lights and glamor, I wished to experience the mouth, heart, and soul of NYC; I would've slept in Central Park if not for anything but the thrill.

But then, after a week of chaos, I realized her words had been true. Every street, corner, or pedestrian crossing was overloaded with energy, the type that made you tiresome watching it. I decided to venture further from the bright lights - although, not too far - and Perry Street was offered onto the table. The apartment for sale was originally brimming eight-hundred per month, though after some haggling, I was able to settle the price down to seven hundred; after all, a girl's got to eat.

The structure itself was beautiful, with a large living area - that extended onto the kitchen - master bedroom - with extra added space for a desk and office supplies - and then the final main attraction, why of course, it was the closet. I was sold the moment it came into view, enlarged shelves for designer shoes, styling vanity, open-plan wardrobe. I felt like Cinderella.

"Pour the wine, El. We haven't got forever." Bonnie waved her glass impatiently. Waking from captivating thoughts, I weighed the tip downward, spilling a copious amount into her glass, repeating the same for Caroline - who was still absent - and myself.

Bonnie was sprawled on the sandy colored couch, one leg tucked beneath the other, sampling the cherry infusion. She had arrived after I ordered the pizza, baring a present - to which was later uncovered to be a coffee mug with 'NOT A JOURNALIST' written across the side - and an even bigger bottle of wine.

"Tell me what you're naming your column again?" Bonnie asked, watching intently as I settled onto that same cushioned couch.

"Vampyre." I began. "It's a nightlife column, the brilliance of NYC, the glamor, glitz, all of the gossip stay-at-home mom's die for."

She nodded in approval. "I see what you've done there. That's pretty smart. Have you got any gossip at the moment?"

I laughed, something easy and absentminded. "I would've told you the moment you stepped over the threshold had I known any."

Bonnie's lips twitched with a knowing grin. "At least give me something to work with."

Pondering for a moment or two, I began swirling the currant colored wine around the pit of my glass, lost in thought. "Well..." I teased.

She lurched forward, impatient and lit. "Well what?"

"Well... I do have a small celebrity interview this week, although... You can't say anything, it's exclusive!" I exclaimed as Bonnie began pouring more of the fruity infusion into her now empty drinking glass. It was adamant she was eager, Bonnie was the type to snigger at the unfortunate, whether wealthy or poor. She enjoyed the gossip, the pain, _the excruciating details._

"I won't breathe a word." She declared far too quickly, her orotund voice barely understandable.

Gnawing at my lower lip, the soft skin began to swell underneath my front teeth, wincing as I desperately tried to refrain from answering. I was told strictly, sternly and sourly not to utter even the name, let alone inform somebody that they'd be arriving... After all, it was a matter of them being swarmed by a mixture of devoted fans, and the even more devoted paparazzi

"_therinpierc_."

"What? Elena, speak up."

"... Katherine Pierce."

There was silence, followed by Bonnie's very loud, very piercing, banshee screech of happiness, and then the front door.

"Hush!" I pointed a stern finger at Bonnie, to whom zipped her lips mockingly, a hint of smug amusement in those allayed eyes.

_God, if I get found out, I'm beyond fired. _

The door gave a loud squeak as it was pried open, my hand having instinctively gone to my leather purse, expecting none-other than a pimply pizza boy. Instead, there was Caroline Forbes, her banana whipped curls - to which were envied by many - were damp with sweat, her usual perfected make up smudged and streaming, and then her clothes, they were dirty, not the common pristine and perfect Caroline I once knew. She looked different, foreign, alien like, indescribable. She looked broken.

"What happened?" I asked, to which she tried to give one of her _don't-worry-I'm-fine _smiles. It crumbled, and soon she was crying uncontrollably in the doorway. She didn't look her usual runway perfect, she looked human and herself, she looked like the Caroline I had met in the pizzeria but many moons ago.

Bonnie was suddenly beside me, handling Caroline by the arm, pulling her softly across the threshold and into the warmth. Meow - my Maine Coon cat - purred gleefully to the fellow blonde's arrival, something to which he did whenever a friendly face arrived.

"Has his mom died?" Bonnie asked, allowing Caroline to perch upon that same cosy couch. Remaining stood, I watched down over her sniffles and snorts; mascara still running.

"No, but I wish he would have."

"Who?"

"_Matt_." She spat the word with venom, hatred and anger. It almost sounded like a cursed word. Bonnie flinched, but regained herself quickly.

"What's he done?"

"What hasn't he done!" Caroline cried, her thin shoulders shaking with a few inaudible sobs. My heart ached, I hadn't ever seen her so... brittle and breakable, she was strong, even stronger than Bonnie in some aspects. "I arrived at the hospital, and managed to buy a bouquet of flowers on the way. Roses. Red and white, just like I remembered him saying she liked. The room was nearly empty, she was laying there on her own, reading a magazine. I gave her the flowers, she thanked me, called me 'the help' - and then that's when Matt came in. I expected him to laugh it off and explain... But..." Caroline released a faux cough, covering up her streaming tears.

Bonnie shot me a glance, a look that screamed vexation. I knew how she was feeling.

"Go on." Bonnie encouraged, stroking Caroline's shoulder comfortingly. The blonde jumped with surprise, as if forgetting our presence, but nether-the-less, continued.

"He introduced me as the help, his personal assistant... and then-" Caroline had stopped crying. As if her anger was now catching up with her, she inhaled a large breath, trying to soothe it. "His _wife_ walked in."

The air was thick with overwhelming tension, quiet, silent, and stunned, no-body moved a muscle. Meow was circling my legs, rubbing his bony cheek against one of two ankles, purring and offering his affection - though it went unnoticed, and gradually, I sat beside the two of them.

"What a coc-"

The door went.

Our three heads snapped up, and Bonnie stood before I could. "What if it's him?" She hissed in protest.

Caroline answered, less shaky and more stern. "Let him in, we'll throw a bag over his head and stab him in the dick."

Had the mood been breezy, laughter would've followed her threat, but somehow, I knew she was serious, and that alone made my stomach churn. I didn't want spilled wine on my couch, let alone _blood_.

Bonnie's outstretched fingers twisted the knob, peeling the door from the frame gradually, before releasing a sigh.

"It's the goddamn pizza!" She called. "Elena, where's your purse?"

Pointing to the counter, I turned away as Bonnie paid. What if it had been Matt?

"Elena?" Caroline whispered, her voice small and timid.

"Yes?"

"Can I stay here tonight?"

"Of course you can."

The door was slammed, and the wafting smell of dough, cheese and meat tangled within the air. My stomach gave a longing grumble for fullness.

"Nothing like pepperoni pizza when plotting murder, am I right ladies?"

"Dish the damn food, and where's the wine?" 

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><p>The following morning was hectic, as Monday's usually were. Caroline left around seven o'clock, deciding it best she should make a start with detoxing Matt from her life, and apartment. I knew her trauma, her pain, break-up's were messy and the '<em>starting over<em>' period was even worse. Though somehow, she managed to dress herself in the best accessory she could - a smile - and left the apartment with a slight bounce in her step. Perhaps him screwing up was the best thing for her.

Between Perry Street losing it's power, and the extra hour I had left to spare, I decided it best to ditch the protesting campaign for electricity, and catch myself a bitter black coffee.

New York smelt like cigarettes, caffeine and calamity, wandering aimfully through the smoke tasting air, I acknowledged those who read their morning paper. Whatever gender, sexuality, race or religion, everyone was the same - everybody was ravenous, starving, quenching for originality and that _something special_. Unfortunately, that's what made everyone typical and just as identical. We all wanted the glory, we all felt like the untold story, it's just those who realise it first, tend to be the most successful.

The sky was egg white today, no sign of the sun, although shade was everywhere. Perhaps this was the transitioning period from Summer to Autumn, and even the thought alone caused me to ache for the most ludicrous things. Homemade pumpkin pie was a must have, accompanied by something cinnamon flavoured, and finished with thick, sugary cream.

_Thank the lord I'm here_.

Brewed Awakening was a coffee cafe located on Greenwich St, between a vintage bookstore and courthouse, it was said to serve the best java in Manhattan, and I couldn't of agreed more.

Today it wasn't as busy - despite the early morning rush - Monday's were usually peaceful and relaxing, something New York wasn't. The welcoming smell of baked breakfast caused my appetite to spur forward, judging by the fact last night was a cocktail of pizza and wine, I began to scan the walled menu for anything remotely tasty.

"You can't just walk away, you like her, right?" Came from the distant corner.

Finding it difficult to ignore the ongoing conversation, I eventually settled myself onto one of many stools, the bar already blessed with cutlery, cups and the coffee/breakfast essentials.

"Can I get you anything, sweets?" Muttered the waitress, to which I answered with my desired order.

The voice from the corner was low and demanding, and it seemed nobody else but myself was interested. "Hey, listen... Listen to me. You can't walk away, don't walk away."

Crossing either leg, my ringed fingers began thrumming on the diner bar, turning sneakily to watch the man plead into the public phone.

"You love her! You can't leave her." The guy exclaimed, and the waitress now brewing my 'cawfee' (coffee) glanced up, tutting beneath her breath.

"You're not staying with me... You're not coming to sta- Hello? Hello? Son of a bitch."

Glancing away just in time, the voice had slammed the phone into the machine and trudged back to his own stool, noting from the corner of my eye, a plate of untouched pancakes and pint of orange juice. He didn't seem to have much of an appetite at first, but soon enough, he was wolfing it down.

"I was being a little loud, I apologise." He murmured, and it wasn't until I glanced up to realize he was speaking to me. The first sight of him was a shock to my system, he was abnormally beautiful, with nighttime black hair and eyes of sky shaming blue. They raked down me, and I registered I hadn't replied.

"Don't be, it was fascinating."

His mouth twitched between a mouthful of pancake, crooked and amused. "Oh yeah? What was so fascinating about it?"

Raising either brow, I was thankful that my order had been placed onto the counter, now focusing on the bitter blackness of caffeine, I spoke. "The 'son of a bitch'? Yeah, he seems a pretty fascinating character. Plus he can put up an argument, judging by how loudly you were yelling into that telephone box."

He laughed beneath his breath, clearly entertained by my answer, and to that, I grinned.

"My younger brother, he's leaving his girlfriend. He does this... -" Searching for the right word, we waved his fork in a circular motion, contemplating. "-Ritual, where he'll date some new girl, get incredibly involved, and then back out and run to my place, watching old re-runs of romantic sitcoms and crying for no reason."

Quirking my brow, I took a sampling of coffee before answering. "Brutal. Why does he come to you?"

He lowered his voice, honeyed and husky, and whispered as if it was a secret. "Because I'm a good samaritan."

With a slight peak to my cheeks, I whispered in reply, "...Okay."

The guy himself looked about mid-twenties, with his pale skin and dark choice of clothing, it looked as if he was modelling, or perhaps he was just frustratingly good at choosing the right clothing.

"You're staring, do I have something on my face? Or are you my stalker?"

Choking between a protest, I glanced away and then back down to the coffee.

"You have a stalker?"

"Who doesn't? This is New York, after all."

I laughed, partially stunned by his suffocating confidence, and the surprise to how half of my drink had drained within a matter of minutes. Perhaps I had taken more nervous 'sips' than counted.

"Why are you laughing?" He questioned, shoving aside his cutlery, the pancakes nowhere to be seen.

"Because you're incredibly cocky." I answered, with a slight kick to my tone.

His mouth twitched again, the lopsided smirk dressing him just as perfectly as that shirt. "Have coffee with me."

"What?" I absurdly remarked. "You don't know me, and I have coffee."

"I'm trying to know you, and I'll get you more coffee."

I stared at him for a while, a look of shock and envy tangling within my wide-eyed expression. How could somebody be this carefree and easy? What if I was a murderer? Or a drug dealer?

_You don't really look like a drug dealer, Elena._

Biting down on my lower lip, I willed my crossed legs to plant on the floor and walk out of the diner, but I stayed seated. He continued to examine, and through the feeling of exposure and nervousness, I shrugged, trying to look nonchalant, as if I hadn't been spending the past three minutes going over every little detail.

"Fine. But only if you stop looking at me like that, or doing that eye thing... It's off putting."

He opened his mouth to protest, but reluctantly snapped it shut, as if stifling another smirk.

"I can live with that. What's your name?"

"Elena."

"Elena. I'm Damon."

"That's a terrible name."

"And that's a terrible compliment." 

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><p><strong>[Extra comment - to whom asked, Bonnie and Katherine are tagged because they're incredibly huge and important characters in this story. Especially Katherine, this is more than just porn fiction. It will have a lot of depth, drama, sadness, trauma and death. It's layered. The synopsis is just a small overview of the main plot. Thank you for the question, though.]<strong>


	3. Katherine Fierce

**[Disclaimer - I do not own the copyrights to the original characters or plot, those belong to the CW and The Vampire Diaries producers. This is simply a story conjured from my own imagination, and for that, those are the only rights I own.]**

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><p>He was a writers dream. He had the rebellious smile, come-to-bed eyes, the open and truthful conversation, yet deep and dark mystery. He was sexy, with the way he drank his three dollar coffee and brushed his upper lip when thinking. He focused far too much on us, and forgot easily who was around. He was heated, heavy and settled perfectly into the summery season. And he was now watching and noting my silence.<p>

"You're staring again."

"I'm observing."

"And what are you observing?"

The heavy weight of Damon's surveying eye caused me to blush again, it wasn't uncomfortable talking to him, which was peculiar. You'd think when tall dark stranger approaches damsel in distress there would be some terror, and a lot of scared signals, but no. There was only tension. Hot, bubbling, thirsty tension. The type that made you purr in approval to anything they'd say, nodding, batting your lashes, _under their spell_.

Though thankfully in this instance, I managed to reply without any awkward stutter. "The time. I should be leaving for work. Coffee has turned into brunch, and I don't know if my heart can take anymore caffeine."

Damon smiled, now focused more on his half empty coffee cup.

I managed to lift from the barstool, gathering up my bag, and adjusting - through partial embarrassment - my velvet skirt. He continued to seem far too interested in his cup, his brows furrowed, the tweak in his forehead creating a wave of different tension. Not like the steamy tension that thickened the air beforehand, this was now far more serious.

"I guess _'I'll see you around' _is a bit cliche, given that we're already in a coffee shop." I smartly stated, slinging the purse over my shoulder. The already paid coffee was beginning to get cold, and so was the air.

Damon eventually glanced up, his once calm and collected blues a now brutal storm. "You don't want a business card?"

It sounded catty, and a little stiff. Like a dry martini in comparison to red wine.

"Well judging by the fact you haven't even told me what you do, I'd say let's leave it to mystery."

He twitched his mouth into a quick smile, but dropped it seconds after.

_"I'll see you around." _Damon quoted, finishing off his warm java.

Releasing a knowing laugh, it seemed his 'cocktail of dreams' self was beginning to show true colours. Shaking my head, I departed Brewed Awakening as the door gave a little jingle, sounding my exit.

Waltzing out onto the outstretched lane, flashes of yellow were blurring down the busied road. No matter how many times I raised my hand, they ignored - rude, ignorant, and annoying, they sped past one by one.

An arm came into view, inches from my shoulder. A roaring taxi screeched it's tires, and landed inches before my booted toes.

Turning quickly, my frustrated side collided with the body of solid muscle. Glancing up, the blinding sunlight irritated my sight, though blues eyes came into visible view.

"I don't want you to know what I do for work."

Taking a few steps backward, assessing Damon's arrival, he stood confident and poised. Ready for his well thought speech.

"Why?" I questioned.

"Because I like you so much."

Raising a hand to shield my sight, Damon's chiseled features melted into view. He looked stern, solemn, and serious, though still maintained his signature crooked smirk. There was an elephant like weight on my chest, accompanied with some journalist-bred-curiosity. What did he do that was so bad? That would change my opinion on him?

I wanted to smile, to blush like a teenager and wait by the phone. But times had changed, and now I was twenty something, and I had been hurt before. But hadn't everyone?

"You met me in a coffee shop, I'm no axe murderer."

"It's not that. I don't care about what you do, it doesn't define you as a person. I'm just..."

"... Wary of the strange man who bought you three cups of coffee?"

The tension had melted back into the New York air, and it no longer tasted of salt and smoke, but sweetness and accomplishment. Anything could happen, anything would happen, and soon he was opening my taxi door.

"I'll find you." He said.

"You don't have my number." I said.

"I'll find you."

I watched him for an extra long minute, the meter on the cab breaching double figures. Damon didn't say much, but his appearance said it all. The casual lean against the door, the slow and smokey smile, the bounce in his brows whenever he grinned. He was some kind of wonderful.

"Goodbye Damon."

"Hello Elena."

The door shut, and I willed myself not to look as the strange man who bought me three cups of coffee vanished from sight.

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><p>The following hours were boring, they lacked excitement, and despite how many cups of coffee I had, they didn't taste as good as this mornings blended brew. Mrs Cosmopolitan - Esther, as I was now allowed to call her - had assigned me an office, spacious and modern, it was the perfect place for me. It had been decorated in light, airy blue, and waxy white, offering a skycloud illusion.

I was allocated my first line of work. It was a mixture of feelings, somewhere between _'I hope it isn't scrubbing toilets' _and _'I'd rather be scrubbing toilets' _ - nether the less, as I sat before the newly purchased computer, and on the newly purchased chair, I awaited the life changing email.

You're going to love it, or hate it, either way, give it your all - I reminded, trying to stay motivated. Work had always been a must have, especially when living in such a closely moulded town. Everybody did everything for everyone. Whether that be fixing a jug of lemonade on a sunny afternoon, or giving eight hours of your free day to work behind a bar, it was how things were done, it was the suburban life. Somehow, I managed to adjust to the untrustworthy New York rather quickly. You see, Virginia was the pretty picture, but beneath all that paint, was secrets, lies, and loss.

I was the epitome of that analogy.

Pretty picture but a bag of secrets.

The sounding jingle alerted me from my thoughts, and with a few swift clicks, the informing email popped up.

_Welcome to the company, Elena._ - it read.

_We highly approve of the name for your column 'vampyre' and what it shall entail. Although the structure of the column will be written and designed by yourself, us founders would like to offer you a list of events in which you can apply for - and mainly attend if no other colleague wishes for the story. Please note that if you do apply for any said event, there is only a three day alter process, and anything after that period won't be taken into consideration - leaving for you to attend without any exception. How you can attend is simple, reply to the email listed below (COSMOATTENDEES) and write your full name, ID code (listed on the back of the card) and bullet point the said events you wish to apply for. We should reach you in 24hrs. _

_Although, you will need a fresh story to kick off your columnist career in Cosmopolitan. We have arranged - as you know - for you to interview Katherine Pierce in three days time (whilst on her cover shoot for our magazine), but she has also allowed for her newly launched concert "MOONSTONE" to be flung into the public eye, giving us a deeper look into her life, her stage life, and her personal life. You'll be monitoring the show from special seating, and can bring either a colleague or friend (strictly business and staying sober) observing, taking notes, and channeling your inner writer. Stay positive, we don't want too much negativity, but just enough for it to be realistic. You'll then go back stage and talk with her, discussing the show and other various topics to which are relevant to Katherine. Do some research, learn about her. She's been known to be difficult, and very diva like, so do as you can to please her. This is your big break. _

_Much love, _

_The founders of Cosmopolitan._

There it is, my first ever assignment. I'm now acknowledged, I'm now part of the magazine. I'm now _Elena Cosmo Gilbert_.

Scanning the email over for a second time, there was a childlike spark inside. This had been a dream of mine since dawning puberty, I had once cut out pictures and glued them into a scrapbook, creating small columns. I was now apart of something, something far bigger than I could've ever imagined. My dreams were beginning to come true.

"Elena?" Suddenly entered the office. _My office_.

Swivelling around on the wheeled chair, the doorway was open and in entered the receptionist. Her shocking white hair still as shocking as it had been the first time.

"Yes?" I answered, dazed, my voice woozy and off-pitch.

"Elena? Have you received the email from the founders?"

"Yes, why?"

"The interview with Katherine has been scheduled for today, she's downstairs, grab your pen and notepad."

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><p>She was prettier than in the magazines. There was no photoshopped filter, nor unnatural slimming to her curvaceous body. Katherine looked like a normal girl, scanning the photo's on the wall of notorious celebrities - like I once had. Her eyes were catlike, but the winged shape was covered by thick smears of black eyeliner, followed by heavily contoured cheeks of bronzy brown, and fruity red lips. If I hadn't of seen her face, and recognised her as a celebrity, I would've said she was an alien. She was stunning. And now she was glaring.<p>

"And you are? Take a picture, it'll last longer." Katherine's upper lip curled as she laughed, exposing teeth to which were an unnatural shade of white.

There was a girl beside Katherine, and she looked a frightening amount like Bonnie. Her name tag - though from afar - indicated Emily, and Emily looked pissed off and tired.

"My name is Elena Gilbert, I'll be interviewing you today for Cosmop-"

"Yeah, sweetie. I've done a eight interviews in the past four days, can we skip it along? I'll give you some crappy interview, and you can make it all bubbly and nice for me, yeah? Perfect."

Katherine flung her purse (Gucci) into Emily's arms (tired) and stalked off in her five hundred dollar boots, entering a room to which must've been indicated for the interview. Snapping my teeth tightly together, I clutched the pen and pad roughly and entered the air conditioned area.

I wasn't one for taking shit off anybody, but this was my job, and I'd take any amount of diva-ness if it meant for none other than my career, and salary. I need to keep filling my wardrobe with big labels, after all. Plus I like drinking eight dollar coffee and riding in yellow cabs.

"So." Katherine pursed her lips, and suddenly my first impression of her was wrong, she wasn't pretty at all. Her personality made her ugly. She was sitting in the bigger and comfier chair, crossing her legs and thrumming her expensive manicure on the arms of the seat. I was almost ready to pounce out of none-other than irritation.

Settling on the plastic seating, my pen began to scrape across the lined parchment - titling it _'KP INTERVIEW'. _

"Do you even know who I am?" Katherine questioned, a hint of teasing to her tone. Emily closed the door behind herself as she entered, settling on the white couch furthest away.

"I know your name, isn't that enough?"

She laughed, exposing fang-like canines. It was an ugly sight.

"You have an edge, don't you? Careful now, _baby_." Katherine winked, and it soared a fire within. Usually Bonnie nicknamed me, and it was with affection, a New Yorker way, it was like a motivational punch. A sense of care. But when Katherine said it, it was like mockery, an insult, a _cursed word. _

"Do you know why I'm famous?" Katherine questioned before I began my own questionnaire.

"No." I answered honestly, and she seemed to stiffen with rage. Emily - from a distance, though still seeable - began shaking her head in my direction, Katherine none-the-wiser to this motion.

"I'm on one of the biggest international shows in the entire world, it breaches over twenty one million viewings in the USA alone. I'm the _star_." Katherine boasted, flinging her long, luscious, sickeningly pretty hair over her shoulder, smirking in delight.

I wanted to say she was missing a viewer, because I've never heard of her. But through the skin of my teeth, I refrained, jotting down nothing of importance. The founders were right, diva was her name, diva was her nature.

"What is this show called?" I asked, remaining glued to the lined parchment.

"Moon Rising." She snapped, a level or irritation to her tone.

"Is that where you got the inspiration for your concert title? Moonstone?"

"Yes. It's a collaboration, I sing most of the music for the show."

"What do you enjoy more? Acting or singing?"

"Acting. I'm dating my co-star, so playing around with him on set is rather fun." She emphasised the last word, but the sentence itself sounded rehearsed and summoned from pure boredom.

"He's a lucky man." I stated with an equal amount of boredom, to which went noticed, judging by the twitch of movement from Katherine's right hand. "Is it serious?"

"Oh yes, I can't seem to ever take my eyes off of him. He's definitely the one for me." There seemed to be a small and truthful smile on her lips, or what could only be guessed as a smile, that is. But it dropped quickly.

"Last few questions before the shoot. What do you think your next project will be?"

"Probably a perfume range, or maybe something to do with make up."

"And lastly, what would you say to girls who aspire to be like you?"

"You've picked a damn good role model, sweetie."

Finishing up the pad with a few scribbles, underlining certain words and adding quotation marks here and there, Katherine was already stood before I managed to shake her hand.

"See you at the concert." She hissed, smacking into my shoulder as I upthrusted to stand.

Emily gave an apologetic look as she followed her queen, and I, with nothing but a pen in my hand, longed for nothing other than coffee, home, and Meow.

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><p><strong>[Extra Comment - I really appreciate your feedback and reviews, it makes it much more enjoyable when writing something I love. And yes, this is Delena based. But that doesn't mean there won't be challenges, set-backs, and other unfortunate mishaps.] <strong>


	4. The Queen of The Night

**_[Disclaimer - I do not own the copyrights to the original characters or plot, those belong to the CW and The Vampire Diaries producers. This is simply a story conjured from my own imagination, and for that, those are the only rights I own.]_**

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><p><em>"I've got the stuff that you want, I've got the thing that you need. I've got more than enough, to make you drop to your knees. Cos' I'm the queen of the night! The queen of the night! Oh yeah, Oh yeah, Ohhhh yeaaaaah!" <em>

The music surrounding throbbed and pulsed, quaking the floor, cracking the speakers, and causing an infectious rhythm to shake many hips. The glittery ball above twinkled like a silvery star, creating a blinding gleam of white to strike - whilst the spotlight followed the entertainment on stage.

The main attraction was dressed in rough looking leather, chain-like-jewellery clinging to her wrists and fingers, accompanied with knee-high-stiletto boots and thick flicks of her ponytail. Her voice matched her personality perfectly, raspy, rough, yet sickly sweet. She was the vision of sex.

A group of girls way back were belting the lyrics in sync, dressed in identical costume and sporting large 'KP' banners. There were posters surrounding, just as large, and just as annoying. A few were encouragement for her music career, whilst others were support for the show she was casted in. For a moment, I thought I saw someone familiar on one of the posters...

_"Don't make no difference if I'm wrong or I'm right, I've got the feeling and I'm willing tonight. Well I ain't nobodies angel, what can I say? Well I'm just that way!" _

How was I supposed to be positive about somebody I didn't like? The interview was easy, it was six short questions, and all I had to do was copy her answers. But this... this freak show, this circus act, I actually had to commentate on it. I had to be _nice_.

Katherine sashayed down the platform, the smell of heated lights and stage smoke suffocating the crowd. She wavered her hips with the pounding rhythm, her handheld microphone aiming to the audience as they recited the following lyrics.

_"You've got a problem with the way that I am, they say I'm trouble and I don't give a damn. But when I'm bad, I know I'm better-"_

Katherine shot the mic back to her own ravishing crimson lips, chanting the following line.

_"-I just wanna get loose, and turn it up for you, baby!" _She shot her manicured nail in the direction to the side of the stage, where a mannish figure stood, nestled against a wall. He was off stage, but remained visible; a dark silhouette.

Ah, this must be the famous co-star she was smirking about.

The song came to a conclusive end, and large sparks flew from the rafters, KP in bold letters marking the backdrop as she and the band disappeared from sight. The crowd were red with excitement and happiness, clapping, whistling, a few calling for an encore.

When the stage smoke cleared, the dark silhouette had also drifted. My inner 'columnist' was eager to know who it was, perhaps Mark Branston, or maybe Jamie Fenwood. Both dreamy, both gorgeous, both beyond VIP elite.

With my backstage pass swinging beneath my silver necklace, I aimed to the theatre door. Six foot something of man was blocking the entrance, and I waved my press pass as a welcome. His frown turned into a smile.

"My daughter loves Cosmopolitan."

"It loves her back."

Offering a toothpaste clean smile, he unlocked the door and allowed me to make my way through. The corridor was cold - despite my leather jacket - and as I passed ongoing rows of celebrity signatured doors, Katherine's was nowhere to be found. The cafeteria was nearest to my left, and with a slight push to the glassed entrance, it unwound easily and exposed a room full of ravenous people. A few turned to my embarrassment, others more interested in the buffet of food.

"Hey... Sorry-" I excused myself, channeling some inner confidence. "I'm looking for Katherine Pierce's dressing room?"

Underneath a sea of fussing people, she stood sporadically and made herself known.

"Ah, it's the baby journalist." Katherine cooed mockingly, but no-one laughed. At least her band members had common sense.

I had grown accustom to her attitude, and it went as expected. _Typical_.

Katherine was bitter at their lack of response, and flicked her jewellery clad fingers in my direction. "Four doors down, on the right. I'm going to finish my champagne before I have to tolerate you. Go."

Shaking my head in arrant disbelief, before stepping away from the warmth of the cafeteria and into the coolness of the corridor. It wrapped around my bare ankles and chilled the bone. Perhaps strappy stilettos weren't the best thing for an Autumn night, but hey, they were Louis Vuitton.

Katherine's door came right into view, a dramatic picture painted above the frame. It made me want to laugh with embarrassment. How could somebody be so conceited?

Twisting the handle, it was thankfully unlocked.

Entering without surprise, the first thing that made itself known was the wall sized mirror, dressed with polaroids around the rim, and pink fluffy feathers. Katherine was everywhere, cardboard cutouts, posters, banners, and a frightening hologram of her blowing a kiss on the wall.

The on-suite bathroom seemed occupied, condensated steam blowing from beneath the door - it sounded as if a shower was running.

Deciding not to sit, I remained stood, browsing the KP merchandise dressing the glassed shelves. KP phone cases, wallets, credit cards... condoms?

The bathroom door behind unlocked, and for a moment I wanted to run. What if it was a relative? Or what if this wasn't her room?

The enlarged amount of Katherine Pierce memorabilia argued otherwise, but I couldn't help but wince as the sound of startled breath echoed from behind. Raising a hand to rake many fingertips through my waist lengthened locks, I tried to seem natural, tried to ignore the presence behind.

"Are you supposed to be in here?"

The voice was husky, and I knew it immediately. I had spent the past few nights thinking about it, against my neck or mouth, but I hadn't dreamed of re-meeting him like this. A trillion thoughts swept over my mind, creating a tidal wave of emotions, and an even deeper migraine.

Turning slowly, a skeptical expression took my features.

"Elena?" The voice altered into shock.

Damon stood, a white cotton towel snaked around his V-line, drizzling with once showered water. It hadn't occurred to me that he was partially naked, nor that this was the guy that had bought me three cups of coffee in Brewed Awakening. Right now, he was only one thing. He was Katherine Pierce's co-star.

Slinging my leather bag - stuffed with the usual writer necessities - over my shoulder, I decided to look absentmindedly away opposed to at him. It was embarrassing, and I felt embarrassed for having liked him, and even more embarrassed for being so taken by his charm. Is this what he did for a living? What he was so 'afraid' of me finding out? Charming innocent females in coffee shops when he was taken himself? I felt _sick. _

"You're a dick." I snapped. I felt pea-sized in comparison. Was he going to laugh in my face? Call me stupid? Gullible? Idiotic? That's how I felt.

Damon remained straight faced, expressionless, impassive.

Why wasn't he saying anything? Why wasn't he defending himself?

Why do you care? You met him once.

But even so, he changed my world then and there. He reminded me of all the things I could feel, how it was to have attention, to be looked at _that way_. I hadn't been looked at _that way _for a long time.

I hadn't realised that I had been crying until a soft patter of water dripped from my chin, and landed into my cleavage. Licking my lips, they tasted like an infusion of strawberry gloss and salt. Damon caressed my wet cheek, not speaking but looking sorry enough.

I wasn't upset over him, he wasn't worth it. I was upset because for once I felt wanted, and needed, and now it had all gone to shit.

Raising my palm, it collided with his cheek, and Katherine waltzed in.

_"What the hell is going on?" _She hissed, her fluffy dressing gown brushing the floor as she raged through.

Damon's hand had already dropped, and was now being taken by Katherine's own. Her eyes were not the usual hard brown, but now an acidic venom.

"You stupid little -" She began, but the same bodyguard that had manned the backstage door strolled in.

"Trouble?" He questioned, and Katherine whipped around.

"Get her out of here! She came in here without authority and attacked Damon."

There was a ludicrous glimmer in my gaze, thankfully the bodyguard clutched me in time, otherwise there would've been another slap heading her way.

"You malicious little bitch! I'll get you fired for this!" Katherine growled.

Damon remained motionless, although I didn't take my eyes off of him. He would pay for this, and if my career was going to be washed away, I would make sure so would his.

The six foot something manhandled me viciously by the arm, and lobbed me all the way down the cool corridor, past the cafeteria, and into the downtown Manhattan scene.

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><p><strong>[Extra Comment - This is a small but incredibly important chapter, remember this is a Delena based fanfiction, so there will be a silver lining.]<strong>


	5. I've Found You

**[Disclaimer - I do not own the copyrights to the original characters or plot, those belong to the CW and The Vampire Diaries producers. This is simply a story conjured from my own imagination, and for that, those are the only rights I own.]**

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><p>The cheek he once caressed now ached with the howling wind. The leaf swept breeze tornado'ed around the abandoned streets of Manhattan - it had never felt this lifeless, this empty. Perhaps the weather was dedicating it's sung song to me, soothing, caring, and pacifying. I could almost hear the natured lyrics.<p>

Inhaling a refreshing breath, the oxygen slithered serenely into my throbbing lungs, like a knife carving through warm butter, or drinking an pint of icy water on a summers day. How far away that season felt.

It was as if I had experienced the time of my life, only to fall harshly into reality. I had found the dream job accompanied with the dream guy, only to lose them both in the same week? What a cosmic joke.

The tears fell quicker now, salty against my tongue and sore behind my eyelids. I wasn't upset about Damon, I was upset for how quickly my guard had fallen, especially after last time. Why hadn't I learned? The importance of staying strong, stubborn and walled was everything and anything I had strived to build. It was what got me through the past few years, gaining more secure and sturdy with every passing day. Now it had washed away, along with my mascara, and love for Manhattan.

I had left Virginia for more than one reason, and that reason was a man. I wouldn't leave New York for the same reason. I had to be strong, I had to channel Caroline's strength and Bonnie's feminist flag.

Perry Street came into view, the darkness blanketing the beauty that was an ongoing row of trees, cars, and old fashioned apartment buildings. I felt soothed, warm, and safe as the tallest structure of them all came into view. My cherished home was steps away, but the calamity of noise behind caused a stumble in my stride.

Spinning on the spot, the overhead lamplight only offered a small amount of illumination. I thought it was a tree at first, with the size and stocky build, but as my sight altered and welcomed every humane detail, realisation plummeted and the shadow of a man now approached with a slowed stroll.

Tripping over my designer heels, I soon caught a small amount of balance and took the opportunity to start a speedy pace in the direction of safety. Panicked breath quickened, and I found myself longing for the benign bedroom where I'd curl up with Meow and listen to Fleetwood Mac.

Where the bodyguard had clutched so viciously onto my upper arm and shoulder, it throbbed with what I'd perceive to be a bruise in the morning. The skin ached with the weight of my shoulder-bag as I skidded on the pavement and nearly tripped fatally. From behind, the shadow of a man was picking up speed.

Loud footsteps of scuffled feet caused my heart to lurch and pierce with pain, and before I knew it, I was running, sprinting, my calves aching as the stranger behind jogged after me.

There was no yelling, no pleading for life, just the horror of hoarse breath.

I could feel the weight of his run on the back of my feet, he was approaching quickly; I was going to die from either a brutal stabbing or the stitch in my side.

Thankfully the building door was open, swinging it forcefully before entering and slamming the exit shut. The key was turned just in time.

The shadow smacked into the glass, and caused a whimper of fear to leave my panting lips. They were no longer wet, but cracked, bitten and dry. I was scared, no longer angry at Damon, vengeful at Katherine, or upset at myself.

The stranger's body was but a build of darkness, having the overhead light been broken for what I could only guess as months, there was nothing but an outline. It seemed he noted the anguish expressing upon my features, prior to his now canted head. He was examining me.

His breath was now visible on the glass, misting it just barely.

Twirling away, I swept up the curved staircase, the apartment steps soon melting away with my uncontrollable pace. Apartment 475 came into view, and trembling fingers instinctively reached for the keys weighing within my leather pocket. Twisting, unbolting and entering without thought, the door was slammed and re-locked within the matter of milliseconds.

Safe, content, yet overwhelmed, I slid to the floor.

Suddenly New York didn't feel like home anymore.

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><p><em>I dreamt of strangers passing in the night, people who I thought I knew, and red, so much red. Whether it be blood dripping from the blade of a malicious midnight man, or the crimson lips of death herself, the colour didn't drift, but intensified as time sped by.<em>

_There was coffee, with not enough sugar and too much cream, but I had been thirsty for hours, and welcomingly drank the off-balance blend. There was something at the bottom of the mug, a locket, silvery, baring a picture on the inside. It was of Katherine, and now Damon was placing it around my neck._

_'Baby.' He growled, and it sounded like a cursed word. I flinched, but reluctantly reached out for him, like a child who needed to be saved. _

_Now I was running across a field, overpowering sunflowers trying to snake and pull at my ankles, naked feet leaping, skin weakening beneath the sun. I felt like a popsicle melting in the Sahara Desert. Somebody was chasing after me, far quicker, far more familiar with the natural ability that was sprinting. Their palm encaged upon my shoulder, vicious, like a hand-held star or curling iron, the temperature sizzled at my peaky flesh and caused a cry to fall from my lips. _

_The floor crumbled like a cookie, and soon the burn was frying down to the bone. Below me was water, and the coffee I had drank was nothing but a forgotten memory. I instinctively leapt away from the coast of nothing, and landed in the bottomless river of what I thought was cold water. I was wrong. It was acid, sickly sweet and bleaching me to the bone. _

_It fried me._

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><p>The dream broke off easier than a chunk of bread, leaving me to adjust to the brightly lit bedroom. The diary I had been clutching was fanned out on the floor, the phone was off the hook, and the bedding was tousled. With skin so sore, and muscles aching from cramping and tension, I decided it best to stretch out and slide off the bed with ease.<p>

Meow raised his head from his furry bed, and yawned as a welcome to my awakening. Humming softly in reply, I outstretched my fingertips and clutched onto the nightstand, raising upward with partial strain.

The sky outside was an insidious black, no hint of blue, or Autumn amber. The digital clock on the table indicated 2:57 am. The suburban girl inside said it was far too early for caffeine, but the newfound New Yorker laughed and asked for 'cawfee', no exceptions.

Flicking the occasional light on when trailing throughout the apartment, it was strange to think of what had happened but previous hours ago. I didn't want to think about it, but it was right there, staring me deep in the face. What would happen when morning came? Would I be too afraid to leave my apartment? It was hard to imagine Perry Street as anything but serene, but the more I thought about the tree'd shadows, accompanied with gasping and chasing, it caused my stomach and heart to clench with natural fear.

Reaching for the coffee pot, the already filled jug was set to steam and boil until the perfect temperature. I had expected to be out of milk, and patience for that matter, but I wasn't expecting the door to sound with an arrival. Three swift knocks, and then a faint fourth.

The thought of the stranger, the breath on the glass downstairs, the cant of his head as he studied...

No, I wouldn't answer the door.

The door went again, a little louder this time. Impatient.

Instinctively reaching for a weapon, I dodged the butter knife and went all out with the meat carving silver. It was thick, blunt and designed for cutting through the thickest of flesh. No murderer would try anything if they saw I was holding this.

_Are they going to see you through the door, Elena?_ A sarcastic thought noted.

Trudging over to the entrance, the bubbling coffee pot brewed in the kitchen, creating a noisy distraction and allowing me to grab a peak through the peephole.

_Oh..._

Unbolting the entrance with a few thumbed clicks, the open doorway now allowed a blinding stream of light to pierce through the apartment. Squinting when adjusting to the bright illumination, the detail of a man eventually settled my sight. There was was Damon. He was soaking, like the last time I had seen him, although somehow - from his dressed self - I had managed to guess it was raining outside. His dark hair was even darker when wet, and it was matted against his forehead, giving him an incredibly youthful appearance. He looked eighteen, like the world didn't matter, and like his shoulders were made for carrying any type of weight. Though there was still that undeniable sex appeal about him, and even standing in the doorframe, he couldn't of looked more confident.

"Did you follow me home earlier?" I snapped, and I couldn't help but apply bitterness to every syllable. My question threw him, and for a second he frowned, as if trying to make sense of such English.

"No, what sort of question is that?"

"A logical one." I muttered matter-o-factly.

He licked his upper lip, frowning as he focused more intently on the ongoings behind.

"You never mentioned you had a cat." He muttered a little absentmindedly.

"And you never mentioned you had a girlfriend."

His once crooked lips stretched into a taut line. He knew he deserved that, but the guilt succumbed onto his marbled features just as easily as that slap had.

"It's a little complicated, but funnily enough, I'm a man of my word."

I snorted, a little unflatteringly, but it indicated my opinion on the subject.

"I'm humiliated, Damon. My life is dedicated to my job, I've worked hard to be where I am, and your _'girlfriend' _has just washed everything I've earned down the toilet, all because I retaliated to your piggish self. So no, I don't believe you. I don't care, and I want you to stay off my doorstep- or corridor! Whatever it is, get off! Hey!"

Damon had barged his way in, his leather jacket infusion intoxicating the coffee brewing air. He looked serious, all sense of sorry drained. He was intimidating, and for the first time I felt uncomfortable in front of him.

"Let me explain, and then you can carry me out in cuffs yourself."

"Why do you care about my opinion so much?" I asked, baffled by his confident tone.

"I explain myself to journalists daily, what's another?"

"I'm not a journalist."

"You're right, you're Elena. Do I smell coffee?"

"You have the attention span of a five year old."

His mouth gave way, twitching a small, lopsided smile that was soon covered up by a deep and husky voice. The one that had urgently said hello when I said goodbye.

"Elena?"

"Yes, Damon?" I answered, slight exasperation and boredom in my voice.

"I told you I'd find you."

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><p><strong>[Extra Comment - I decided to write an extra chapter because the other was just too good to leave. From a few reviews and messages I've received, I guess I can say a few of you are a little pissed by the Damon being Kat's co-star plot, but it was planned as part of the story. I didn't think up this as just Damon and Elena in Manhattan, Katherine is an incredibly huge part of it, and I've got to say I love her a little. Thank you for all the nice reviews and such, they honestly mean the world. Merry Christmas xo]<strong>


	6. Rumour Has It

**[Disclaimer - I do not own the copyrights to the original characters or plot, those belong to the CW and The Vampire Diaries producers. This is simply a story conjured from my own imagination, and for that, those are the only rights I own.]**

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><p>The apartment air was thickened with cigarette smoke, coffee, and tension. It was as if being transported back to Brewed Awakening, when the charming and ever-so charismatic stranger approached my damsel in distress self. It was a twenty first century love affair, except nobody was declaring death, nor holding a sword, but instead a newly updated phone.<p>

He began his explanation with a breath of exasperation, there was no need for enthusiasm, because despite the New York surroundings, this wasn't any ordinary fairytale. I had often wished - when young - about holding the hand of somebody you never wanted to let go, to love somebody like a princess loved a prince, or maybe like that one girl and the frog. But those dreams soon evolved to sex, and other cravings, like scrambled eggs at three am, or perhaps experiencing the unknown.

The 'single girl in Manhattan' story had be told by various different women, on various different occasions, and all with various different reasons. I, for one, wasn't going to bore my own mind with the sob story that love is eternal, and everything is flowers and rainbows. Flowers die, and rainbows disappear, just like a teenage crush, and just like promise that friendship is endless. Nothing lasts forever. Although, that being said, this silence felt like it could last forever, and soon Damon's cigarette was being snuffed out.

The long wisp of smoke cleared, but he was still occupying a breath of tobacco. Exhaling it with ease, a shortly formed sentence was uttered soon after.

"You're incredibly beautiful, do you know that?" He muttered, as if it was an easily stated thing, like a grocery list, or bingo numbers. I found myself wanting to hide in the coffee cup I was now sipping from, the warmth only adding more heat to my cheeks.

"If you're trying to flatter me from the truth, it's not working."

_What a liar you are. _

"I'm not trying to flatter you." He declared, his expression a projection of nothingness. There was no smile, no flirtatious twinkle in his eye, no oozing sex appeal. He was just Damon, and I was just Elena, and there was the coffee.

"Tell me." I whispered, glancing down to focus more on the ceramic mug, now filled with only caffeine dregs. Damon sat but a whisper away, the elongated couch soon seeming incredibly short. If I extended my forearm just long enough, it would cause me to brush his upper torso, still partially wet from the rain, the black t-shirt clinging to his muscles perfectly.

His leather jacket was hanging on the back of the kitchen door, drizzling, soaked. How long had he walked in this drought? I was curious to know.

"Tell you what?" Damon sounded stern, like the wall his stubborn self had created was blocking any sign of emotion. He had said it was easy to talk to journalists, but this wasn't talking, this was blanking every question, ignoring the heavy.

"Everything. You came here, I'm not sure why, we met once. You might as well finish what you intended to do."

Still not glancing up to greet his blue eyes, I focused silently on the cooling coffee, slightly put-off at the thought of bitterness and brewed java. I wanted water, but all I could taste was copper. I had been biting on my lower lip too hard.

"You say we met once, but why did you slap me?" From the blurry corner of my eye, I could see his head canting, like the stranger that had chased me but hours ago. I shivered from the single thought alone.

"I know that was a little excessive, and I'm sorry. I didn't think, I just acted."

"You didn't answer my question. If we just met once, and that's all it was, why did you slap me?"

From brief recollection, I could imagine his jawline stiffening, the sting of my attack surprising him. He once said he liked being surprised.

"Because..." Faulting for logical words, I suddenly found myself vulnerable. Where was the confidence that every 'journalist' carried? The quick wit to lie? The self-assurance? The natural ability to hide the truth?

_Why did you slap him, Elena?_

I wanted to cry, to hide behind my mothers legs, or to sit on my fathers lap and demand attention. I wanted to be wrapped up like a 5th Avenue burrito, safe, protected, not a care in the world. But they were dead, and suddenly I was a twenty something woman... and now he was awaiting an answer.

"Because I liked the way you looked at me. I liked being charmed, and I liked you. I had let every barrier down, and I shouldn't of, because it's taken me years to build them back up. I was upset that I had allowed myself to walk willingly into this same position, and you proved me right. In a funny way, I needed a slap to get back into reality, I guess you got the worst part of it, and for that I'm sorry." There was an undeniable quake to my voice, and even in the now tobacco clearing air, I could still taste the blood, and even more-so, feel the tears that had once fallen. Thankfully I wasn't crying, but on the inside, there was a tidal-wave of emotion crashing down. I hadn't spoken about this to even the girls, let alone some random stranger. But was he so random? Was he a gift given from God? Was he _the slap _to wake me up?

Suddenly the mug was too heavy for my hand, and I set it down immediately. Damon hadn't spoken, but his silence said it all. He had his 'thinking' frown on, and from brief experience, I knew not to disturb.

"What do you mean by you've had to build every barrier back up? And you've been in this same position?"

Thankfully the inner journalist (aka liar) had resurfaced in time to answer another of his questions. "Why has this suddenly turned onto me? You're here to explain, are you not?"

It sounded a little snappy, although the last thing I wanted was to break down in front of him. Damon regained with a mouthed twitch, instantly knowing his place. He seemed like the type of person to push and pursue until breaking point, he seemed like he knew how to uncover the truth. Damon was now back to frowning.

"Katherine and I-" He began, and her name immediately caused hatred to boil within. "-are co-stars. They say it's only business, but somehow your personal life always gets involved. You sleep on set, you eat on set, you practically live on set for half of the year. Co-stars, directors, and writers, they become your family. Your entire existence revolves around fans, interviews, and camera lights, the airport is home number two, and alcohol is home number three." There was slight exasperation to his voice, accompanied with some relief. Was I the first one he had spoken to about this? "You don't put up with that for just anything or anyone, you put up with it because you want be successful. It's your career, your everything revolves around that paycheck. Suddenly, you're being handed another contract, with promise of a better chance in the world. You're being offered the key for publicity and promotion, something everyone and anyone wishes for. You don't think, you sign on the dotted line, and soon you begin to pay for it, slowly, your life evolves, and now you're not only sleeping on set, but you're being rumoured to sleep with your co-star. I don't like her, Elena. Who does? She's Katherine Pierce. She's the pretty picture, she sells, and she happens to hate everyone, including those thirteen year old girls holding posters. She's a bitch, but she's the bitch I need to get past in order to achieve what I've been working for."

Absorbing every ounce of information, there was slight stress in the air, like knowing a secret you're not supposed to know. Was I going to be _his _secret?

"Why are you telling me all this? How can you trust me so easily?" I questioned, finally offering him a look of almost confusion. Damon's stiffened jawline fluttered with a tensing muscle, his damp and dark hair blending perfectly with his abnormally pale skin. He looked like a black and white photograph taken in the fifties.

"Because I like you, it's as simple as that."

His honesty was refreshing, like the water I had been craving. My mouth still tasted like blood, but the air was sweet, sweet enough to wash away any lingering negativity.

"So you've never had any feelings towards Katherine? It was all just a publicity stunt set up by the show?"

"There was some flirtation, although it never went beyond that. She's a friend, and even that title is pushing it. We don't get along half of the time."

"What about your other co-stars? Do they know?"

"They don't bother to know, they just know we're together in public and that's it, they don't care to know anything more than that."

Raising either brow, a personal question dawned. "What about your brother?"

Damon laughed, and it seemed out-of-the-ordinary, especially after the silence and tension. His once stern expression moulded into the usual smirking smoulder, and I suddenly felt comfortable again. "My brother doesn't know his right foot from his left, he's far too concerned about his own dick than to worry about whose on mine."

The fire scorched my dimpled cheeks, offering a splash of scarlet, a colour to which matched perfectly with bitten lips. His laughter faded, and soon there was an undeniable sense of passion in the air, a suffocating amount, it knocked the oxygen from my lungs.

"So where does this leave us?" I questioned, now absentmindedly playing with the flouncy material that was my off-the-shoulder-top.

Damon's mouth was presenting a lopsided smile, one that whispered secrets yet maintained mystery. I watched it from a distance, partially curious, partially craving. He noticed.

"Wherever. I need some normality in my life."

"And I'm normal?"

"You're far from it, but it's normal enough for me."

* * *

><p>"And then what happened?"<p>

"He had another cigarette, put on his jacket, and went. Though there was about ten seconds of silence as he stood in the doorframe, and he was just looking at me. It made me feel amazing, Bonnie. To actually be looked at, y'know?"

There was a small Italian restaurant centered in the middle of Madison Avenue, and within that small Italian restaurant was a conversation too scandalous for magazine covers. Bonnie had listened thoroughly to every detail, and through a small sampling of breadsticks, she'd given me her opinion on the subject.

"His story seems logical enough, although the fact he was showering in that bitch's bathroom doesn't make sense. Did he say they were friends?"

"He said they were friends, though barely. I want to believe him, but I can't help but be wary."

"Oh, now you choose the time to be wary, huh? After you've gotten yourself in deep?"

I rolled my eyes out of mocking irritation, before taking a small sip of orange juice, deciding it best to swivel the subject around to Bonnie.

"Sold any paintings lately?"

She neatly assorted her knife and fork, a small glimmer of excitement in those chocolatized eyes. "Well..."

"Are you going to tease me? I'm the least patient person on the planet."

Bonnie laughed, and it sounded like Christmas bells. "I sold three paintings, all my own. The gallery has been buzzing with customers, viewers, buyers-" She held her manicured finger up, pausing my squeal of teenage excitement. "-Guess how many figures my paycheck had this week?"

"If it's anything over three you're buying lunch." I stated.

"Five."

Reaching around the squared table to smack her upper arm, there was high-pitched shock to my voice. "Jesus. Congratulations, Bon! Do you want to pay my rent whilst you're at it? What the hell are you going to do with all of that money?"

Bonnie smiled a toothpaste clean smile, exposing all of her perfected teeth. "I was thinking of buying an apartment nearer to the city, not too close, but close enough that I can actually be social. Plus I'm leaving the coffee shop, my barista days are over. I have enough money to do as I please at the moment. No more icky coffee stains."

The sound of coffee was suddenly nauseating, and I couldn't think of anything worse. Bonnie was searching for the nearest clock when Caroline arrived. She was carrying a Manolo Blahnik bag, to which looked rather full, a lot full, were the sides splitting?

"Did you buy the entire store? Or is Matt's dead body in there?" I remarked, to which Bonnie laughed in sync.

Caroline threw herself next to me, unbuttoning her knee-length leather coat. It smelt like a memory, distant, but enough to make me smile.

"Sorry I'm late, I was just gathering some more books. Those aren't shoes, Bonnie, so stop eyeing the bag with judgement."

"I'm not judging! I'm just concerned. The bag is breaking, what's in there?"

"Books!" Caroline exclaimed, and reached down to fumble within the frail containment. She smacked a dusty covered hardback on the table, and to the sight I expressed shock, to which was soon covered as Caroline threw a glance my way.

"You like books, don't you Elena?"

She sounded hostile.

"If I say no, will you spank me?"

Caroline grinned, a small grin, but still, it was enough to show she was okay.

"Yes, I love books. What is it?"

"Well...-" She began, and Bonnie held up her hand for the waitress.

"Before we begin this, I'm going to need some wine, and food. El?" Nodding in the agreement, the Italian server jotted down our chosen preferences, before busying off with a skeptical look at the large book Caroline was possessing.

"What does she think it is? A bomb?"

"Just continue." I muttered, waving my manicured fingers impatiently.

Caroline adjusted herself on the chair, an enthusiastic and exuberant spark taking her jewelled eyes. I couldn't remember the last time I had ever seen her so... alive.

"Over the past week or so, I've done some self evaluation. The little scandal with Matt has been the best thing in my life, it's truly changed my opinion on everything. I used to be so... Loved up with the idea of love, and wanted kids, family, the American dream. I've decided to dedicate my life to me, and I'm going to start this new path with a career change. Now, after a few days of research, I've decided I'm going to become... a lawyer."

Bonne raised her hand for the waitress once more. "Make that two bottles of wine."

"Are you sure about this?" I asked logically, turning to meet Caroline and all her excited glory. She looked radiant, healthy, her hair was sun shaming yellow, and skin smooth, clear and dewy.

She wasn't offended by the question, but instead amused by it. "Elena, I want to be proud of something, and I want to love my life. Matt made me resent the world, and his karma will be watching my success. So, I propose that we do something we haven't done since Elena first came to Manhattan. We're going out tonight."

"Bonnie, make that three bottles of wine."

"We're all getting laid, make it four."


	7. Bitterness and Regret

**[Disclaimer - I do not own the copyrights to the original characters or plot, those belong to the CW and The Vampire Diaries producers. This is simply a story conjured from my own imagination, and for that, those are the only rights I own. ]**

* * *

><p>Everything seemed more exciting at night. It was the moon brought adrenaline that kept life exciting, because it didn't matter if you weren't living in a world of werewolves, vampires, or prone-to-bite fairies, as every shadow lurked with evil unknown to us. It sparked an elated feeling, whether going to get food, or dancing under the disco ball. Night always escorted that extra piece of magic, and in New York? The feeling combined was spectacular.<p>

It was the twenty second of September, and the trees had already begun shedding the previous season. The air - to which had been unsettling and drab come this afternoon - was now rather hot, causing me to thankfully ditch the padded, and incredibly unflattering coat. I was dressed in an elongated, black jumpsuit, where the legs of the attire were straight, offering a seventies vibe - opposed to being tightly fitted - and the upper half was spaghetti-strapped and low-cut. My hair of morning coffee had been swept into a high ponytail - the bottom of every strand tickling my lower back - and nails had been manicured and glossed to match the overall outfit. I felt pretty, not like a young girl, but like a woman, and that confidence stayed with me throughout the evening.

The bar itself had just launched, and Caroline - being the daughter of _Mr Forbes Magazine _- had managed to acquire a few laminated passes. They were glittery, ruby red, titled with bold font, and marked with two barcodes - one for entering, and one for the VIP area. The line itself groaned and grunted as us three waltzed ahead of the que - to which was now stretching around third avenue. Flashing the code underneath the lasered machine one of three bodyguards owned, it chirped with acceptance, and we slithered through the double-doored entrance.

_'Breakfast at Tiffany's'_ was the name of this exclusive opening, and Audrey Hepburn was clearly the inspiration for the decor. The iconic cigarette holder was center stage, and choreographed dancers swung around it's statement beauty. Half naked women thrashed around in oversized coffee cups, whilst waiters proffered glasses of blue champagne.

_Ah, yes. _

Coffee, naked women, and cigarettes. The true essence of New York.

"There is no way I'm going near that cigarette designed podium, despite how fancy this place is. You could catch an STD just by breathing near the thing." Bonnie snorted under her breath, her long and lustrous curls tickling my arm as she bent for a more private conversation. I laughed, though it was muffled by the sudden and sporadic sound of modern music. Caroline was already weaving through the crowd of chattering folk, her diamond personalised fingers maintaining above their heads as indication for us to follow. Bonnie flinched as a clearly drunk man barged past, quickly recollecting herself.

"Watch yourself, Jack-Ass!" She yelled, the roughness of her New Jersey accent seeping through. The guy didn't stop, though his crimson coloured hoodie was noticeable between the blinding flashes of artificial lighting. Bonnie brushed back a strand of hair, and continued east, right where Caroline was located; which happened to be right where the bar was.

"Who was that?" Caroline crinkled her nose in disgust.

"Some drunk idiot. I thought you said this place was fancy?"

"It is! Look, blue champagne!" Caroline exclaimed as the waitress circled the floor in time for Bonnie to glance over, looking slightly more impressed.

"What are we getting?" I questioned, glancing over the marbled bar to view the selection.

"I was thinking vodka for me-"

"You don't like vodka. You said it tastes like bitterness and regret." Bonnie proclaimed, to which stifled a laugh from myself. Caroline had declared herself new, like a mid-year resolution had fallen into her lap, and now she was determined to change everything about herself - including her bombshell blonde hair, to which was now ashy white opposed to sunny sunshine.

Caroline ignored her, leaning over the work-surface to achieve the attention of the bar-tender. "Excuse me?"

His back continued to face her, shuffling up a few clean glasses.

"Hello?" Caroline exclaimed, the childlike pitch taking her voice. It was rather cute.

"Yo, you gonna serve us or what?" Bonnie grumbled, one forearm nestled on the bar.

He turned with an arched brow, immediately justifying himself with an angled smile. He had that _to-die-for _foreign tan, a combination between Indian Summer and Texas Drought, and even beneath the unflattering illumination, he managed to look luminous. I found myself flustered, and from the corner of my eye, even Bonnie looked flushy.

Caroline on the other hand, looked absentminded. Like she didn't even care. I could hear her thoughts now. _Who is this guy? Why is he smiling? Where is my bitterness and regret martini? _

"Sorry, I couldn't hear over the sound of the music. What can I get you ladies?"

Before Bonnie and I could reply, Caroline had already taken it upon herself to order. "One salty martini, no ice, a raspberry vodka, double ice, and Elena...?" Her ringlets swayed into my direction, those cat-like eyes impatient. Cosmopolitan Cocktails were a drinkable holy grail, and I found myself ordering them on a frequent basis when out. Though since the unnerving message from Esther - _Mrs Cosmopolitan _- I couldn't of imagined a woser drink to stomach.

_Mrs Cosmopolitan _had left a voicemail on my answering machine after the Katherine Pierce incident, and all it indicated was to be in her office by Monday. I hadn't written in the building since, and didn't plan to. I could write from home, from a coffee shop, even from another country if I wanted to. It was why I accepted the job firstly and foremostly, I managed the most inspiration within natural surroundings, not in an office. I didn't look cute behind a desk, I looked old. I was twenty something, my desk days are in the future, not now, not whilst I can flash off the smoothness of my thighs.

"Fine. She'll have her usual, she'll have a Cosmopolit-"

"No." I muttered, stretching over the bar to point in the direction of the liquor listed chalkboard. "I want to try something different."

From the narrowest corner of my eye, their was a visible exchange of glances between Caroline and Bonnie.

"But you always order a Cosm-"

"What're those called? Under the _'Simply Sweet' _list." I interrupted, to which the brown eyed bartender reeled off the fruity sounding beverages.

"Tongue Twister, Heavenly Hysteria, The Yellow Brick Road, A Cocktail of Dreams, Bomb-In-A-Bottle-"

"Wait. What was that last one?"

"Bomb-In-A-Bottle?"

"No, the one before it."

"A Cocktail of Dreams?" He questioned, either eyebrow raised.

"I'll have that one please." I ordered, nodding with the simplest of smiles.

"Caroline's becoming a lawyer, you're changing up your lifestyle. What am I going to do? Shave my head and ask everyone to call me Larry?" Bonnie yelled over the thumping beat.

Caroline cracked a toothpaste clean grin, and it seemed infectious, not only to me, but to the bartender.

"You're becoming a lawyer?" He asked, and she averted her attention over, meeting his curiosity.

"Yes. Why? Do you have a male joke you'd like to share to us empowered women?"

This stunned Bonnie, who was currently sporting a feminist flag. She looked proud.

"I was going to say, you're too pretty to be piled underneath paperwork. You'd look better on a magazine cover."

Caroline opened her mouth, but snapped it shut quickly. She was lost for words, and her cheeks began roasting an unnatural shade of rhubarb.

"I'll get these. I don't think you can pay the guy in flirtatious giggles." Bonnie murmured, popping open her purse before offering over a crisp note.

"What's your name?" I questioned as he served our drinks.

"Tyler. Here's your _Cocktail of Dreams_, I hope it's everything you expected it would be. It's pricy."

For the first time, I also found myself speechless. Dreams _were _expensive, and if a bartender on third avenue could conjure up one in the matter of a minute, why couldn't the rest of us?

Tyler turned, drying the inside of a cocktail glass with a dirty rag.

_I guess those with less in life have a better chance than those with more._

* * *

><p>The rhythm was now contagious, and after a few of those costly cocktails, I was summoned to the dancefloor by none-other than my own heeled feet. The beat dropped, and it quaked the floor. The dancers to which had originally thrashed around the iconic cigarette stand, now joined those beneath the crystalised chanelider. I was too high on the newfound wave of my beverage bliss to care who was surrounding me. Caroline was currently elsewhere, enjoying the single life, and someone else's mouth so it seemed - whilst Bonnie continued to sip shots off of naked nobodies.<p>

I had missed the freedom of shaking hips, belated laughter, and continuous cocktails. I wasn't the type to fly around Manhattan with one shoe missing, mascara smudged, and bottled emotions. But this, yes, this. This euphoria was addictive, and suddenly alcoholic's anonymous seemed like a reasonable place to end up, especially if every night in-fact, was quite like this one.

Tossing either arm above my head, I could almost feel the burn from the heated, neon lights, building up a more dewier sweat with every hipped sway, I parted my plumped lips to laugh at none-other than the clarity.

This felt amazing. This freedom. This air. These lights. These sounds...

... These hands.

Two warm palms enclosed around my waistline, ordering my dance to combine with theirs. The beat fastened, and with a flick of my ponytail, I managed to press my plump cheek against their torso. They were tall, they were persistent. They felt dominant.

Had I been in the right state of mind, I would've laughed with embarrassment for the persistent guy, and went off in search for Caroline - who I knew would be in a responsible corner, drinking a responsible drink, and talking to responsible people. But she wasn't the responsible Caroline I once knew, she was newfound, she was reinforced. And now he was pressing his mouth to my neck, hot and clammy against my back.

As I gradually deflated from the cocktail brought high, I found myself feeling uncomfortable. I didn't want to be rude, after all, this was a fancy place, and I had dressed fancy enough. I didn't want to shatter the confidence I had pent up, nor did I anyone elses.

Taking a heeled step forward, I was quickly slammed back into the structure of the stranger, where he continued his antsy grind. Crinkling my nose in distaste, I tried more persistently to leave, and was reluctantly brought back with just as much dominance.

Now making it adamant that I was uncomfortable, I thrashed forward with a few stumbled steps, his tight grip clinging painfully onto the shoulder Katherine's bodyguard once had. I hissed and blindly lashed out. Smacking what felt like cotton material, I firstly thought I had missed his cheek altogether, though as overhead lighting flashed - revealing his identity - I realised it was the drunken guy with the red hoodie from earlier, the one to which barged rudely into Bonnie.

His face was undetectable from the hooded shadow, but he continued to stare, not angry from my affliction, but fascinated. I felt repulsed.

Twirling on heeled feet, I charged in the nearest direction. Caroline's curly head wasn't anywhere to be seen, and neither was Bonnie's.

_Where do I go? Where do I go? Where do I go?_ I panicked. I hadn't brought any cash with me, prior to Bonnie saying she'd pay from her previous paycheck, nor had I bothered to bring a mobile. I couldn't get a cab, I couldn't call them and ask where they were. I was stranded.

Glancing back to the dancefloor, the stranger had disappeared, and now in our spot was the choreographed dancers. Through a sudden flash of realisation, I managed to find the laminated card to which bought me a place in _'Breakfast at Tiffany's'_. Heading rapidly to the right, the quick detour landed me outside the curtain covered doors better known as the VIP area. Swiping the flexible plastic beneath the nearest scanning machine, the bodyguard grunted in approval, and to that I entered the room immediately.

Fastening the doors shut a moment before stepping in, I spun around to note the secluded area to which I had apparently disturbed. A few men in whitened suits acknowledged my presence, but quickly discarded it. The chilling music of the twenties dawned a thought.

How easy was it to step from one world into another?

This was a replica of a jazz lounge, and suddenly I felt incredibly young, and alone, and still breathtaken by the selfish handed stranger. Deciding to walk opposed to stand, I waltzed into the direction of a more emptier bar, where a classier looking barman served nothing but brandy and whisky.

"We don't serve body shots here." He snapped as I opened my mouth, allowing me to fault for speech. Quirking a brow, I found myself stunned by not only his judgemental voice, but his British accent. I twitched a smile, despite the predicament.

"I was going to have a glass of water, actually."

He raised his salt and pepper brows, looking slightly speechless, before nodding. "I'll get you something from the back. Wait here."

He disappeared from sight, leaving me to nestle against the oakwood bar, taking a moment or two to breathe. Think. Wonder how I'm going to travel back to Perry Street. It felt far further than it actually was, perhaps that was because of my sudden tiredness, or maybe it was the weight of such heels. Either way, I wanted to be five again, and to be carried to bed by the strength of my own fathers arms.

"Who let the trash in?" Came a sudden and distinctive voice from behind.

Instantly, I regretted entering the calmness of the VIP section. Instantly, I wanted to be with the stranger opposed to here. Instantly, I wanted to slap her.

Turning just barely to assess where the insult came from, to no surprise, there was Katherine Pierce. Dressed in silk, whilst sporting a fur jacket - probably skinned puppies no doubt. Her lips twitched into a smirk, something more hurtful than appreciative of my presence.

_She's found a toy to occupy herself_, an inner thought noted.

"What do you want, Katherine?" I sneered, from both disgust and exasperation.

What sort of luck was this?

"I want to know what you're doing in my part of _town_. You see, baby. This-" She gestured her diamond encrusted manicure to the surroundings. "-is where people who _mean_ something party. We don't drink cheap bubbles, or sweat on a dance floor. We _own_, and we _order_, filthy scum like _you_." She hissed, and her breath fanned my flushed cheeks. She smelt like bleach, mouthwash, and nail polish. She smelt like fame.

As someone from the press, journalism, and even media in general, I had the natural instinct to stay guarded, to laugh at her insults, and to lie. Lying was second nature. Though the other half of me, the girl who grew up in Virginia, the girl who baked every kind of pie with her parents, and had a suburban boyfriend and an even more suburban future with him, wanted to cry. She wanted to scream from frustration, and break into a million pieces.

But the stronger part always stayed guarded.

"What the hell is your problem?" I began, slight feud beneath my voice. "Does this make you feel good? Was this the way you were raised, Katherine? To bad mouth anyone who isn't in 'your world'? You're _nothing_." I emphasised the word by dragging it out, raising from the support of the oakwood bar. Her smile was gone, but her piercing eyes remained just as amused. "What a life you must live, where you're that unhappy, you have to inflict unnecessary pain on other people. You threaten me with my career? To which is based around exposing celebrities - if that's what you even are - is really a low blow. I don't care if I get fired from every magazine agency in the tri-state-area, I will expose you for the worthless, hateful scum you are. You're _nothing_." I repeated, watching with sickening joy as she slowly crumbled from amusement to anger. Katherine raised her hand, ready to launch another duplicate of her previous slap, but I caught it in time. Holding her ferociously by the wrist, her lips parted and she hissed in disgust, a few members of her clique swarming to rescue.

"Stop. I can handle the little bitch." Katherine spat, curling a more unattractive smile. One that swore in every vile language possible.

The journalist returned, and she laughed through my lips. I felt strong, no longer crumbled by the stress that had taunted me for days. "Never. Ever. Threaten a girl with the capability to write a book on your every darkest secret-" Leaning closer to whisper, offering us a more private conversation. I never tore my eyes off of her ferocious own. "I will end you."

Altering back to a steady stance, I released her wrist, the print of my fingers marking her skin. Katherine simply smirked, pausing for a moment or two, before nodding, as if she understood something I didn't. I was surprisingly intimidated by the simple action. She turned, and slowly sashayed across the carpeted flooring, and further through the chattering lounge. I released a relief lased breath.

That felt better than the alcohol all together.

"Uh... M'am?" Another surprising voice came from behind. Circling to greet the familiar tone, it was the barman, and he was holding the water I ordered.

Thanking him with an appreciative smile, I received the drink and gulped the consistency away. It soothed my parched thirst, and reduced the heated sweat that baked my reddened palms. What if she did slap me? Would she have stopped? Would it have turned into a full-blown fight...?

The thought alone began to stress every nerve, and I found myself using the marble surface for support. Will Katherine truly end my contract at Cosmopolitan? Did she now have the power to do that? She seemed to influence everyone else...

_Don't worry, everything with be okay._

_Oh, I really shouldn't of aggravated her. _

_What have you done, Elena?_

_Go find Bonnie. Bonnie will make everything better. Find Bonnie, and you find sanity. _

Have I really drunk that much? A sudden thought sparked, and it caused a frown to pull at my brows. The need for sleep was becoming overpowering, and as I focused on every breath, it sounded strained. The weight on my chest wasn't ordinary, it didn't feel normal.

Had she stabbed me when I wasn't looking?

Glancing down with a ludicrous expression, the saturation of normality was blurred and distorted, like a water-based painting; all the colours began to run. Reaching out instinctively for any time of assistance, I managed to fall unfortunately to the floor, smacking the bone of my nose on the barstool.

It ached, and suddenly I had a migraine. Everything else felt numb. The world drifted away, along with the twenties jazz, along with my worries, and into a land of exhaustion.

* * *

><p>The first thing that came to mind was foul smelling garbage, flies, rats, maggots, rotting skin, spoiled milk, dirt. It all overwhelmed me into awakening. I was shockingly aware of the blood circulating my body, and it seemed almost painful to breathe. I felt my lungs wheeze in agony, braving the pain to lift, and sit with a slight slouch to my spine. The muscles in my calves couldn't possibly hold my entire weight yet, so for a few moments, I rested against the nearest brick wall.<p>

I had been _thrown _- or so it felt - into the alleyway centered behind _Breakfast at Tiffanys. _The night sky dressed the entirety of third avenue in darkness, and after a moment of realising where I was, I began trying to stand. Failing miserably, I shamefully began crawling across the stone cracked flooring, dirtying the outfit I had felt so confident in but hours before.

Wasn't this supposed to be a night of reconnecting? Laughing with the girls? Turning our lives around? Caroline had become so strong within the matter of days, and Bonnie, how she managed to exchange milky latte's for thousand dollar cheques, I was clueless. In the space they had grown, I had plummeted, frail and lifeless. A weakened version of what I once was. I hadn't ever felt so far away from them, and it pained me to think of how everything was changing. Though I was resentful, I was happy for their happiness. I just needed to find mine, and I knew it wouldn't be in an alleyway, crawling to find lamp-light.

I managed to gradually stand - with the support of the alleyway wall - and stumble aimlessly onto the pavement. Who knew what time it was, the line for _Breakfast at Tiffany's _had shortened down to maybe a handful of impatient drunks, and even the bodyguards looked exhausted.

Bonnie and Caroline must've assumed I went home. What I wouldn't give for a mobile phone, to call, to let them know. Although, part of me knew my thumbs wouldn't be able to dial the right keys, I couldn't even string a sentence together, neither my thoughts, as for memories? I didn't even know my name.

I must've taken something, sipped a wrong drink, been hit over the back of the head. There was fuzziness between the thought of a drink, but it soon was discarded when the sight of a running vehicle came into visible sight. I staggered over, wringing my ankle on the pavement and flying forward. My stomach collided with the trunk of the limousine, and a nauseating feeling flooded my system.

This wasn't normal, this wasn't normal - I continuously recited, whether thinking or speaking, I didn't know, I couldn't know. All I knew was home, and I needed to get there.

The sound of an opening door echoed through the surroundings, along with a voice of concern, and my name.

"Elena? Look at me. What happened to your face? Elena?"

_Elena... Elena... What happened to your face?_

"Katherine." I murmured, and slouched against the warm body.

"I've got her, I've got her." The voice reassured, and suddenly the floor disappeared from beneath me. I was five again, and in the strengthened safety of my fathers arms, being carried to bed. "Drive us to the penthouse, she can't go home like this."

"Yes, sir." The commanded man answered, and the warmth of a running engine took me home. _Took me to him. _


	8. Fame Was The Game

**[Disclaimer - I do not own the copyrights to the original characters or plot, those belong to the CW and The Vampire Diaries producers. This is simply a story conjured from my own imagination, and for that, those are the only rights I own.]**

* * *

><p>The purring engine blended into the background, among traffic noise and chattering folk; it was the perfect soundtrack to represent New York. The sudden desist in our drive concerned me, had we already reached the desired destination? Upon opening one eye, it seemed that I was lying down, my head resting on something stiff, hard, and chiseled.<p>

The sky beyond the glass window was pale, like an early morning opposed to afternoon heat. It caused me to shiver with the reminder that we were no longer in summer, but in-fact brutal autumn. I suddenly longed for the warmth of my bed.

I didn't know who I was with, nor where I was going. The last thing I could remember was accepting the glass of water from the barman, and then everything went blurry. Perhaps I was in the car of Katherine Pierce, or maybe Caroline had finally hoisted me into a cab herself. But that comforting thought wasn't going to risk me sitting up. Staying asleep was staying safe.

_What have you gotten yourself into, Elena? _

Throughout countless theories, the excruciating headache managed to keep me awake - despite the drowsy weight that longed me to sleep - I remained shut-eyed, and focused on the lingering sounds. The beeping of a nearby pedestrian crossing, veer of public transport, and breath of somebody near. It wasn't detectable at first, with the surroundings being overwhelming - and slightly intimidating - but after processing the gentle, and soothing music of whoever's breath it was, it started to sound louder.

I began to absentmindedly mimic their intake, slowly becoming aware of my every muscle, bone and limb, I couldn't help but stir. There was a sudden stroke of fingertips against my hair, the throbbing pain of a migraine drifting to numbness as the palm cradled my cranium, brushing, soothing and calming. I hummed without thinking, and the fingers paused their sweep.

"Elena?" Questioned the stranger, but it wasn't a stranger at all. His voice usually sought a sense of mystery, excitement or flirtation, but this was something unlike him. Or unlike how I knew him. Flexing with almost embarrassment, realisation washed over, noting the position I was in. With my head resting upon his thigh, and legs curled over the length of the limousine seating - I was rather confused as to why - with all of the space for me to of laid -was I here, on his lap, having my hair stroked?

"I'm..." Losing all sense of intelligence, I shamefully glanced down the length of the outstretched vehicle, opposed to behind. I didn't want to look at him. How could I? What state was I in when he found me? Or did I find him?

I flushed an unhealthy shade of scarlet, and began to lift into a sitting position. With the support of the head rest, I unattractively launched the sickening weight of my head against it, squeezing either eye shut. The vehicle felt like it was running past the normal speed, and suddenly every breath was nauseating.

"If I throw up, I don't want you to ever talk to me again." I muttered through clenched teeth, clutching the rim of the outstretched seat.

"Carl-" Damon muttered with slight caution.

"Ten minutes, sir." Came from the front, catching my attention immediately.

"Come here." He turned, reaching over despite the protest of my childish groans. I still hadn't looked at him, I couldn't bare the sight of him, nor the sight of me. Why did I hurt so much?

Damon enclosed his grip on my waist, narrowing the width separating us, and causing my head to shamefully fall against his shoulder. The revolting ache gradually altered into numbness, and despite the need to hide from embarrassment, I couldn't help but turn into him. He smelt like cuban cigars, and musky cologne. It was the scent of safety, the scent of _'you're okay' _and _'don't worry'. _

"Where are we going?" I questioned, a sense of strain to my tone.

"Home." He said, and it sounded like a promise.

* * *

><p><em><span>Katherine<span>_

_The lounge slowly became emptier once the bidding was done. Men - with now thicker pockets of cash - smoked the last of their expensive cigars, whilst women - wearing only the finest of designer labels - polished their throats with champagne dregs. Towering candles diminished their own flame, bartenders soaked the last of used glasses, and I - now waiting patiently for a familiar face - perched in a booth, furthest from sight._

_I had relished in the attention from older men, with the way they flaunted their reputation, sevenly-figured cheques, and experienced charisma. They treated you like a prize, something to be possessed and proud of; unlike the twenty something screw-ups today. Throughout the entirety of the evening, I had found my throne to be the knee of an investor - Mikael Mikaelson. He had purchased a few of the talented, and still managed to keep a drink in my hand the entire night._

_There was a gathering on the twenty second of every month, where millionaires would attend, in search for celebrities to buy. It didn't matter the occupation, income, gender, sexuality, or race, as long as they were known. Fame was the game. It was a dirty business, though those desperate enough to have a dazzling career, would do the unthinkable to achieve it. Even if it meant signing away your life to a forty something investor._

_I came into the business come the late nineties, when lip liner, leather, and guitar solo's were the in-thing. I was visiting New York at the time, dreaming of the big apple, and wanting to take a bigger bite from that apple. I stayed with a friend, she worked the street, we'd spend our money on vogue, or a new pair of shoes - sharing of course, I didn't care back then. But the time came, and I began scouting for work. Swinging off a pole, doing cabora, even burlesque was gaining high pay and even higher attention, I needed the money, it didn't matter what I'd be doing. Thankfully I had been found by an agency, booked in for an audition, and was given the role of 'Carli Detroit' in Moonstone. My first paycheck was four figures._

_I eventually reached twenty, and was classed as one of the biggest business women in America. I no longer bought vogue, but starred in it. Although, the summer of two-thousand-and-eight was one I would never forget. I got the script on Monday morning, and was in the producers office come the afternoon. They had killed off Carli._

_'You can't do this to me. I've given you five years of my life, I've worked hard.' I pleaded, something that wasn't natural to me. They shrugged, and said it was a tough business to crack, I still had opportunities, I had a week to find work. The show's publicist offered me a card, and said to attend this gathering on the twenty second. I was desperate, and eventually agreed to go. I remember seeing older men, wearing better clothes than the many celebrities I had saw. There was a long table out back, and a lounge that was better known as 'the waiting room'. My name had been called, and I entered. These men asked questions, played back a few acting tapes, looked at my public status, the amount of attention I received. I liked attention, I could've told them without the use of statistics. I was watched when I walked, and hated and favoured by everyone and anyone. Attention was what they were searching for._

_A few of the men pulled out papers, and even diamond encrusted pens - just for the impact - waiting for me to sign the dotted line. They all bared different perks, different rules, one even included regular sex. I remember feeling repulsed, though nether-the-less settled to signaturing a contract with William Tanner. He shook my hand, we had a drink, and I was booked for a Cosmopolitan shoot the next day. Eventually, the Moonstone producers banded together, and offered a highly-paid raise if I was to return. I didn't have the option to deny, or to agree, my career was now in the hands of William Tanner. He agreed, though only if I was made a protagonist. We didn't hear from the company for a while, and in the mean time, I continued doing shoots, searching for upcoming movies. William was fantastic, one of the best choices I had made. The show eventually got back to us, offering the details, and sending over a contract. I was to reincarnate as a vampire, and date the illusive Cole Davenwood (played by Damon Salvatore himself). I didn't deny. Overall, these 'gatherings' were a blessing. And even though I still maintained working for William, I now had my own place in the meetings. I was the only woman to partnership with the club itself. How life had turned around._

_The gatherings themselves were obviously incredibly illegal, and throughout time, were needed to be disguised as something more realistic. Club openings were the best excuse, and tonight's camouflage was called 'Breakfast at Tiffany's' - a tribute to Audrey Hepburn. The gays loved it. Everything was sailing smoothly, Mikael Mikaelson was getting rather handsy - whilst purchasing a country singer - and the champagne continued to flow. Can you imagine the sheer surprise when little miss note-pad turned up?_

_"The journalist is at the opening." The butchest of bodyguards whispered privately into my ear._

_"What journalist?"_

_"The girl." He informed._

_The outrage of her caused me to sober up immediately. Elena Gilbert was a bane in my life, more than she knew, and probably more than I knew. She seemed harmless, and was favoured by most - or so it seemed at Cosmopolitan - but in actuality, Elena was a pest that never seemed to leave, and it was beginning to irritate my every nerve._

_I decided to take action. Give her a warning. Though it didn't faze her confidence._

_She stumbled into the lounge, much to my surprise. How did she even get past the bodyguard? But her shimmery little press pass revealed all. She looked woozy, drunk, and vulnerable. Just how I wanted. I offered her the attitude she hated, and she shockingly gave it back. It was like watching bambi on ice, or maybe some disney princess try to be the villain. If the shoe fits. I eventually gave the signal for the final part of my plan to be evolved, and so it was. I walked away, hearing Elena fall, along with her pride, and I wore the darkest of smiles._

_But finally, here I was. After hours of waiting for the familiar face to return, the lounge suddenly seemed abandoned._

_"I didn't mean to take so long, I had to change out of those clothes." They stated, to which I glanced up, irritated and impatient. Gesturing to the seat opposite, they slid into the booth, looking like an eerie painting that didn't quite fit in the gallery._

_"Is she in the van?" I questioned, my chin raised to offer a look of integrity._

_"Well... No."_

_"No?" I scathingly shouted._

_"After drugging her, I left her in the alleyway. I thought with the dosage... and the drink? It would've knocked her out for half a day, I was only gone an hour." He muttered, beside himself. "_

_"And WHAT? She just walked home? Check her apartment! Take her from third avenue! I don't care what it takes, I want her in that van-"_

_"Katherine." He hissed, low and just as impatient. "I know where she is."_

_"Then what are you waiting for? I paid you." I muttered ludicrously._

_"She got into Damon's car, Katherine."_

_"What?"_

_"I chased her onto the street, she was lying beside his limousine. He knew who she was, he picked her up. They got into the car... and they drove away._

* * *

><p>Madison Avenue was centered within the mouth of the Upper East Side, home to designer labels, illusive celebrities, and the occasional billionaire, It bared grace. With it's iconic structure, known reputation, and breathtaking view, New York had never felt further. Despite the occasional sighting of a yellow cab, or constantly carried coffee cup - this felt otherworldly, and I longed to of studied it's beauty for an extra moment, but Damon was impatient.<p>

"Elena." He reminded, edging open the doorway for my entrance. Following the stern sound of his voice, the sunlight slithered into nothing but a shadow, and throughout my best effort not to meet his gaze, it failed once we were inside.

He looked vacant, lost, like this was nothing, and he was nothing, and I... was nothing.

"Why didn't you take me home?" I asked, my voice small and childlike. The main floor was detailed, with god-like cherubs and gold twining. The sky was everywhere, feathered wings, heaven itself, it was another masterpiece I wished to enjoy, but everything felt hurried, and soon I was chasing him into the elevator. "Damon!"

The enclosed space felt claustrophobic, uncomfortable, a lot like the limousine. Suddenly I wished to escape the weight of my body, the rush of heated blood, and the burden of such bones. I didn't want to be human, I wanted to be the air, I wanted to escape the weight of the world and become nothing. Nothing, like I felt I was, and nothing, how he looked at me.

"Will you just answer my question? I wake up, and I don't know where I am, who I'm with, who I am, and I'm scared! And you're not helping by blanking me!"

My outburst disrupted the silence, and instantly his calm had transformed into a brutal storm. Damon slammed his hand to the shaft of the elevator, where the 'emergency stop' button was pressed, it's flashing red indicating a halt in our movement.

"I didn't take you home, Elena, because it isn't safe for you anymore!" He emphasised my name, and it sounded urgent. Flinching from the hostility in his stance, Damon suddenly looked much taller, towering above with his once kind eyes. They now resembled a hurricane, one that brought down buildings, and maybe a few hearts.

"Why aren't I safe? Because of her, Damon? I'm not scared of her!" I yelled, though it sounded broken. Why couldn't I have that same fury, the one that caught Katherine off guard last night?

"Have you seen your face, Elena? Your nose is broken, you were drugged, and she has the entirety of Manhattan searching for you." I flinched instinctively to grasp the button-shape that was my nose, and it seemed to have tape plastered around the ridge. Had he fixed it?

"What do you mean I was drugged?" I muttered warily, outstretching a hand to pause his hostility. "How do you know I was drugged? Did you find me? Did I say that?"

Damon straightened his shoulders, reaching over to pound the flashing button, and the elevator continued it's unravelling course.

"I'll explain everything, I just want you inside first."

Glancing away from him, the weight of my migraine was suddenly nothing in comparison to the overwhelming ache in my chest. What if he was right? Katherine searching for me?... Manhattan searching for me? It was all too much.

"Hey." He said, and it sounded stern. Swivelling to meet him, there was an undeniable sense of seriousness about him. He looked like the definition of promise. "I won't let anything happen to you."

And as the elevator doors unwinded, revealing a corridor that led me to safety, I knew I could trust him.


	9. The World Slipped Away

**[Disclaimer - I do not own the copyrights to the original characters or plot, those belong to the CW and The Vampire Diaries producers. This is simply a story conjured from my own imagination, and for that, those are the only rights I own]**

* * *

><p>The apartment itself was styled and designed to offer an eighteenth century appearance. Whilst burgundy, brown and black dressed the space spectacularly, a marbled fireplace cooked the last of wooden logs; hinting the air with smoke and cinnamon. Windows - frosty from the bitter climate - were now sheltered by heavily hung drapes, causing a darkness - with which was both daunting and ominous - to shadow the surroundings. How could somebody possibly want to live here? Why shut away New York?<p>

Brushing the gold embossed cushion, it felt expensive, as did everything else; including him. Was I really worth his time? I wasn't one to favour the famous, we were all human, we all deserved '_special treatment'_ - though I couldn't understand his reason, his logic to help me. Did Damon feel obligated to sort out this situation? What was his motive? As I studied the way he poured his drink, I was impatient to know. Call it the inner _journalist. _

Damon's fingers clutched the neck of the nearest decanter, spilling copious amounts of liquor into two glasses. He waltzed over, confidence in his stride, and confidence in his gaze.

"Drink." He insisted, his voice like velvet, both tickling my ears and heart. The crystallized glass was clenched between my delicate fingertips, shamefully brushing Damon's hand as he provided.

Swallowing a hearty sip, the flavourless spice prompted a wince, causing me to politely place the glass upon an offered coaster. Nestling further into the crimson couch, the warmth of the liquor - despite the aftertaste - had embraced me welcomingly, easing stress by just an inch. I almost forgot about my broken nose.

Damon abandoned his pace and settled into an armchair, the ageing leather concocting with his pallid skin perfectly. The silence broadened, and after a throat clearance - accompanied by a sampling of more bourbon - he began to speak, as much as I began to listen. "Elena, I can't possibly imagine what's going through your mind right now, and any sane person would be smart to walk away, but I know you're not that cowardly. I saw it in your broken nose, and I saw it in Katherine's dressing room. I don't expect you to understand what's she's capable of, nor do I expect you to trust me, but know I'm probably your only chance of getting rid of her."

His lost-in-thought expression was almost beautiful, and I wondered what his mind was conjuring up this very second.

"Damon." I murmured, both exasperated and tired. "I've dealt with celebrities like her before, I'm a columnist, not Cinderella. I don't need some pumpkin to wheel me off to safety. I can handle her." I reassured, both to him and myself.

His expression altered from confusion to seriousness. "The fact that you're not the slightest bit worried, concerns me. She's not some so-called-diva, it's not a matter of if she has a certain amount of ice cubes in her coffee. It's about what she does to people, I've seen her send someone into witness protection. Do you think I want that for you?"

Glancing up instantly, his eyes were a bright pigmentation of everything blue. The startled expression stretched like the sea over sand, firstly creasing my mouth into an almost smile, to then roast my dimpled cheeks to ravishing red.

"Why are you doing this for me? You're offering me something that's beyond inconceivable. If she found out _you_ were offering _me_ help? That could be the end of your life too, let alone mine." I stated, a hint of questioning beneath the innocence.

Damon's mouth slanted, offering a smirk that was both crooked and secretive. "She can't touch me, I'm practically invincible in the madness that is fame."

"But still, why are you doing this for me?"

He formed a frown prior to the longing echo in my voice. "Because I got you into this mess, Elena."

"How?"

"The way I was looking at you, that and maybe the fact I nearly put the bodyguard into a coma after the way he 'manhandled' you out of the building."

Releasing a breathy laugh, it seemed small, and even smaller given the space of this livingroom. Damon did that for me? Suddenly it seemed hard to look at him, like the smallest of glances would cause a darker blush.

"As for knowing you were drugged, there was a brief visit to the hospital between our journey home." He explained, and I frowned with confusion.

"The hospital?"

"Carl waited outside, they ran a few tests, plastered your nose. They said it had been broken before." Damon muttered matter-o-factly, though it sounded more along the lines of a question. The ability to move was made redundant, and suddenly there was no logical answer for this question, only blabbering, and frustration directed at myself.

"Ah. Well. Uh-" Swallowing thickly, the air was now hot, and the uneasy tension caused a sweat to build upon my forehead. "-Yes. Yes it's been broken before, when I was younger."

He narrowed his eyes skeptically, though nodded nether-the-less. He seemed to know a lie when it was told, though also knew when to drop something.

"Is there anything else you want to question me on?" Damon asked, gathering up from the leather armchair. Following his movement with a curious gaze, I reluctantly shrugged.

"Not yet."

He smiled to this. "Then I suppose we better sort out what we're going to do."

"We? I told you, Damon. I can handle myself." I protested, deciding to remain seated. I didn't know the tension well enough to be brash or benign. He placed his empty glass on the dust dressed silver tray, trailing the pattern of the crystal with his thumb as he thought, showing me nothing but his back - though that was enough.

"Whether you want my help or not, you're getting it." Damon stated, and it sounded harsh, like his clenched teeth tried to contract the promise.

"Are you going to be my bodyguard? Sit around whilst I file my nails? You have a career, you have a life. I'm not your priority, I was the one who got under her skin, whether you were _staring _or not." I admitted, feeling defensive over him, opposed to myself. Lifting from the couch, I stood, with confidence opposed to awkwardness, he side-glanced this, and reluctantly turned out of sheer curiosity.

Bonnie would've taken the offer, she would've slapped him on the back for being a good samaritan, and sipped her coffee whilst he built a protective bubble. But I wasn't Bonnie, I was me, and I had trusted before, trusted people, trusted compulsive liars. Why did I feel I could rely on him? What was it?

Perhaps it was those bluest of blue eyes, now staring deeper into my soul, right into the mouth of my mind. Damon was unlike anything I had ever known, and now he was enclosing the space between us.

"I'll be your bodyguard if I have to be." Damon pledged, lifting his hand - that was now baring a chunky piece of jewellery, coloured like the ocean - and brushed my cheek. It roasted red, and I suddenly felt breathless. Slithering my stare up the length of his jawline, it was defined, and fluttered with a muscle as he clenched his teeth. I subconsciously inched forward, unaware of the same breath we were sharing. His exhale tasted like mint, accompanied with bitter bourbon, and want. Stammering for speech, I failed to recover my vocabulary, instead taking an exasperated inhale - allowing him to swim with my bloodstream, and circulate my heart.

I hadn't ever felt like this before, the electricity between us was disturbing every nerve.

"Damon." I managed, and it felt familiar, as if his name had been apparent all along. I couldn't help but sound disapproving, as if this was wrong. This _was _wrong.

_If Katherine found out... _I wished to say, I longed to say. I wanted to be logical, to be brave enough to stand up for the right choice, but the butterflies disturbing my stomach were singing, and my ears were ringing, and suddenly he was speaking.

"Don't ruin it, forget about everything." Damon reassured, and his touch slid down the apple of my cheek, to my lips. They were dry, lacking moisture, lacking the sense to move and refuse, but he didn't care. His thumb tugged at my lower lip, parting them, watching him as he watched me. I was clay in his hands.

"Kiss me." I urged, unable to resist, unable to deny the temptation that was everything Damon Salvatore. He didn't question my order.

We merged like flames, the fireplace a shameful sight as our passion burned the surroundings. His lips - so soft, yet so dominant - enclosed around my own, applying a breathtaking amount of pressure, and an even more breathtaking amount of tension. Those fingertips slid from my face and through my hair, loosening the ponytail until every strand was free, shaping my face as his palm once did.

Suddenly, I was against the wall, caressing his back muscles as his tongue slithered into my small mouth. Between Damon's growl of desperation, and my own whimpered breath, his shirt was off. His body was marbled, carved wax, melting from the heat. I couldn't help but touch, to grasp, to have, and he was now pinning me against the wall, clutching at my wrists, creating a skinned shackle.

His attention diverted, massaging my neck with his lipped dominance, creating a lusty line of marks in his movement. I followed the trail of his spine with my hand, the other clutching needingly at his rear, pulling the weight of him against me. The living room - that once appeared as dark, daunting and fearful - now was oozing amorously, creating a sense of sex, something that was adamant between our gasps.

Damon's hands clutched brutally, the skin of my wrists aching, though it was easy to suppress. He began directing his mouth lower, lower, _and lower... and then?_

_The world slipped away. _


	10. Morning Glory

**[Disclaimer - I do not own the copyrights to the original characters or plot, those belong to the CW and The Vampire Diaries producers. This is simply a story conjured from my own imagination, and for that, those are the only rights I own.]**

* * *

><p>He tasted like smoke, the type to invade your body and become an addiction. Fogging, misting, blinding me from the reality that awaited. I was helplessly lost, in the dreamlike state of Damon, Damon, and everything Damon.<p>

_'Kiss me' _- I'd urge, and he never disappointed. Whether it'd be between the friction of his passionate thrust, or during the middle of our synced sleep, he'd apply the same amount of want and need, making me feel like the goddess Aphrodite herself.

The morning came - making the previous night feel like a fantasy - and accompanied with the sun, was the realisation that every problem hadn't disappeared. My nose still throbbed beneath the reconstructive bandaging, and from what I could tell, my face was bruise-central.

Damon's room itself was very much like the rest of the apartment, a mix between tragic romance and mid century goth. Burgundy drapes shielded out the walled window light, offering the appearance of nighttime. Perhaps he was a nightowl?

Basking in the joy that was our current position, his arm - muscular and tight skinned - was currently draped over my waist, in an almost protective lock; something that made me feel safe.

Where had my priorities wandered off to? I wondered between the smile that crept upon my lips. Katherine was on the hunt for me - and had the entirety of Manhattan searching in every alleyway and avenue. She was beyond mad, there wasn't a human emotion discovered that could define her rage, and that alone caused me to shiver, underneath the arm of him, the arm of my protector. Caroline and Bonnie were still unknown to my whereabouts, and accompanied with the consistent surge of fear, was guilt. I should call them, I should inform them that I had spent the night in a... safe enviroment, and certainly not get into the details of the most miraculous sex I had ever had.

_Was it really that good?_ My pride questioned, indirectly deflating Damon's ego.

The rash (prior to intense friction) covering my inner thighs was enough to answer that question. Good was a poor word, especially when describing his bedroom... _skills. _

Though I'd never tell him that.

With slight hesitation, I peeled back Damon's arm, his broken snore resulting in slight reluctance, before it continued it's same mannish pattern. Creeping off the cushioned mattress, the wooden flooring squeaked with my weight, wincing with every wary pause, I nether-the-less continued a tip-toeing pace into the livingroom; where our leftover bourbon glasses sat.

After a few moments of aimful searching, I eventually found a modern looking home phone (modern being another term for 'complicated'). A few moments of should-I-shouldn't-I passed, and I reluctantly hit a funny symbolised button out of nothing but frustration.

How hard was it to call Caroline? She had a number consisting of mainly sevens.

The device shrieked with a robotic voice, and I quickly clamped my palm around the speaker. The muffled voice sparked my interest, and I listened as the electronic woman repeated the date of the last voicemail.

_"Bzzzz! Last-voicemail-received-at- Bzzzz! Two-thirty-nine-am, this-morning. To-hear-it-back, press-one, to-delete-this-voicemail, press-" _

Without thinking, my thumb hit the symbolised button.

_"Bzzzz! Voicemail-playing..._

_'Damon, I think you know who this is. As you know, I have a manhunt for that little whore 'Elena' - and I know she's at your apartment. Don't worry, I won't do anything irrational... yet. I'm coming by this morning, make sure she's gone. I want to talk. I have a deal for you.'_

_... End-of-voicemail." _

Hitting end, Katherine's voice disappeared from the device, and I was left with nothing but the dial-tone.

Katherine was making a deal with Damon? Did it consist of my career ending? Of his career ending? The whirlwind of worry swept me to sit on the nearest chair, it's leathery material causing my thighs to sweat.

Katherine was coming here... to make a deal... with a man I had just slept with... who happened to be her co-star/fake boyfriend. This was too much teenage drama for my liking, I was supposed to be an independant woman, one who would slap on the brightest of smiles, and act like the world didn't weigh a ton on my shoulders.

_"Smile through the pain, baby." _Bonnie would say, usually during a bikini wax, though now that advice would be more useful than ever.

_Okay, Elena _- the rational part of my mind consoled.

_Damon is still asleep, are you going to wake him up? Or are you going to leave like a dirty stop-out, and treat last night like a fling, a dirty, cheap... but heavenly fling._

_No, Damon wasn't a fling. He was a man, a man that could take charge and demand what he wanted. He knew how to play the game better than Katherine did, I could trust him, I could trust his word._

_But do you really want to be putting him through this? This pain, this unnecessary trouble/hassle for the sake of YOU? A stupid small town girl who mixed up with the wrong crowd?_

Suddenly this was beginning to feel like a horror movie, only instead of chainsaws, there were lipglosses - and instead of mass murderers, there were calculated businesswomen who hid behind their large quantities of dollar bills. Suddenly the male race seemed far more benign.

Where was a bodyguard when you needed one?

There was a slowing stirr from the other room, the sound of creaking, floorboards aching with weight. I immediately lifted to stand, as if preparing to face a member of family, informing them that I was cut from the team, or maybe I was just an overall disappointment.

Hey, it wouldn't be the first time.

I waited with a peculiar sinking feeling, something that caused every muscle to sag from fear. Fear for explaining myself, and fear for putting him in jeopardy. Although, after a few moments, I had come to the conclusion, that he hadn't woken.

Glancing down to the modern buttoned device, it seemed large in my palm, like a monster, an ugly being who had just slaughtered a town of people - when in reality, it was just the messenger, sending the message from the villain herself - or the devil, so I heard she liked to be called.

Between the hesitation, and more should-I-shouldn't-I contemplation, I came to the conclusion that I would leave him a very traditional, very classy, written note. Or so I told the most gullible part of myself.

Gathering a scrap of parchment, and the nearest blue pen, I began jotting down a small fraction of what was to happen, and what had happened.

_"Damon-"_

It read.

"_-Don't think this is a goodbye, especially after last night. I'm not that type of person, and neither are you. Katherine is on her way here, I accidentally listened to a voicemail (whilst attempting to call Caroline) and thankfully found out early enough to leave. Don't think I'd go because I want to, I just don't want to cause anymore trouble than I already have. Lie as best as you can to try and convince her you don't know me, I'm not prepared to drag everyone down with me. You don't need the burden, and I don't need to be saved._

_You're a good person, and have protected me better in the twenty four hours we had, more than anyone else has done in my entire life. _

_I'll call you, don't come by the apartment. _

_Elena _

_xo"_

Re-reading the note over (twice), and crossing out major spelling errors, I eventually settled on folding it, titling his name on the front, and placing it beside the drink he had left.

It looked official, like something you'd leave a husband before divorcing, or perhaps a cryptic killer wanting to send NYPD on a manhunt.

Having slept in his shirt, it's lingering flavour caused me to ache with regret. Shrugging off the material, only to recover my naked skin with that same jumpsuit from last night, the texture felt tainted somehow, and I couldn't wait to get home, and shower off the dread I knew would hit me.

Waltzing towards the apartment door, the lock flipped in my fingertips, and with a graceful step, I left the fantasy world I longed to stay in, and welcomed reality.

The elevator gave a gradual hum the lower it dropped, though it was mainly muffled by the peaceful echo of an opera voice singing through the speakers. The entire building was Heaven itself, a masterpiece, a gigantic painting to which must've taken years, let alone hours. Golden clouds hovered above the unwinding staircase, blue being the sky, the background, the canvas for this godly glory. Cherubs daydreamed, some gazing down on those who wandered through the lobby, and even those who seemed to of lived here for years, glanced up with a gradual smile, acknowledging the beauty as I did, a young girl of twenty something, leaving behind a man I was infatuated with, all for the sake of a spoiled child herself.

Guilt was undefinable, and if I didn't feel it in this moment, I never wanted to experience it's true wrath.

Entering the chilled weather, there was a gradual break of sunlight, though it was mainly muffled by the windswept gust, knocking a row of reddish leaves down Madison Avenue.

I almost enjoyed the breath of fresh air, though within a matter of seconds, it had all slipped away.

Suddenly, I was blind, and no, not metaphorically. There was a bag - dark and musky smelling - covering the entirety of my head, making it almost impossible to breathe, to function, to know where an exit of freedom was.

"Shove her in the van!" Ordered a high voice, sweeter than cinnamon, though too fatal to swallow.

_Katherine Pierce. _

The floor beneath disappeared, and despite my shameful cries of desperation, there was no scurry of help, and no saviour. I was alone, and frightened, and wanted help more than anything.

A band of fingers clutched harmfully at my flesh, shoving me into a cramped space, one that I suspected to be a vehicle. The van Katherine spoke of.

"Hit the gas, we're going to take Elena on a little ride." She demanded, and more than one voice laughed with her. Off into the sunset, off into Hell we went.

This was going to be _torture_.

* * *

><p><strong>[Extra Comment - I'd like to apologise on behalf of my neglect with this story, I've had a terrible case of writer's block since the start of the New Year. Though I'd like to say I've finally conquered it and will be regularly posting again. Hope you enjoy the story still. Thank you for reading.]<strong>


	11. The Ungodly Hour

**[Disclaimer - I do not own the copyrights to the original characters or plot, those belong to the CW and The Vampire Diaries producers. This is simply a story conjured from my own imagination, and for that, those are the only rights I own.] **

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><p><em><span>Damon<span>_

_She was picture perfect sunshine, with the way her lip curled when concentrating, and lashes fluttered with flirtation. She wasn't like anything I had ever witnessed, or been apart of. The women of Manhattan were false, a fantasy that sometimes went wrong. They injected cement in their upper lip, and paid a wealthy sum to stay younger. Though unfortunately, plastic pussy wasn't wife material. _

_Elena (fortunately) wasn't one of them, she was pure - or as pure as a woman can get. I noticed her clarity between that second cup of coffee in Brewed Awakening, and during the slap she conferred in Katherine's dressing room. She was a kitten, vulnerable, gullible, and believed people who weren't meant to be believed in. _

_Her bare back was now visible, a structure of skin that was oddly sexy, and smooth to the touch. The sheet narrowly covered her mid-section, and with a gentle turn in her sleep, it slipped to expose her entire upper half. _

_Elena had the tight ass of a supermodel, round and pert, also like her delicate tits. Her pussy tasted like cherry soda, and lips were like that of a vacuum, giving her a first class medal in the blow job olympics. She had a dirty mouth, and dirtier intentions, riding me like a jockey, and wanting her hair pulled. _

_"Will you fuck me again?" She had whispered between teasing, rubbing her slit with the hand that had previously pulled on my cock; all signs of purity gone. I couldn't help but assist her in another session, rocking the headboard, shattering the mattress springs, creating more of that sweet, wet, slapping sound. _

_And now, in the shade of the night, I was ready for round three. _

_Reaching over, two of my fingers snuck between her ass, aiming down, until meeting the entrance to a pussy worthy of worship. Penetrating her, the wetness of our previous fuck coated my hand, massaging the weakened area until she woke. _

_Elena pushed out her rear needingly, purring like the kitten I knew she was. _

_Curling my index and forefinger, I managed to (despite laying down) begin a pace, thrusting within her entrance at a quickening rate. _

_"Please." Elena cried suddenly, soft and desperate. Her hand slid from nowhere, and began working my shaft, gripping the growth, and tugging at the same rapidity as my fingered fuck. _

_She turned her head, meeting my gaze, a sense of craving in those eyes of burgundy brown. Her lips parted, a weep of want echoing throughout the room, and suddenly I couldn't contain myself._

_Removing my hand from between her glistening thighs, in a sudden movement, she was spun onto her back, and those perfect, cum-on-me tits were exposed. Without hesitation, Elena widened her thighs, not needing to think, or consider the hour, she was desperate for it __now__. _

_Within the first thrust, her wetness had spread, recoating my cock in the juice of her cunt. Elena wailed, grasping one of my shoulders, a bundle of the disheveled bedding in her opposite hand._

_"I've never been fucked like this before." Elena whispered, her voice breaking just gradually. She quickly grabbed her tits as they bounced, squeezing their sensitivity as I rode her pretty pussy. Her back arched, offering me a better view of them, nipples hardened and red from being tugged. Elena enjoyed teasing. _

_"I can still taste your cum in my mouth." She moaned, lifting her buttocks from the bedding, allowing my full length to agonizingly slam inside of her. I couldn't help but grunt from the appeal of it all, how her innocence had washed away. It was a mouthwatering sight. _

_Elena's pussy was as almost as good as her mouth, though I somehow missed the sound of her gagging against my cock, her throat retracting the size, the innocence of those big brown eyes, watering as she sucked. The bed shook more rapidly, the fantasy within my mind causing our pace to quicken._

_With the scent of her pussy having now trademarked the air, our long awaited climax met, and my load spurted inside of her. Feeling those ridgy walls tighten as she squirted her own orgasm, Elena howled like a wounded animal, the night ending on her screaming my name._

* * *

><p>"Turn left, idiot!" Katherine's banshee like voice ordered, the van whirling to her instruction. The unexpected turn caused me to lurch forward, colliding with a body that was stiffly cold. The grip of the beholder threw me back, allowing me to hit the wall of the vehicle in that same second.<p>

"What's going on back there?" The devil herself demanded, all the way from the front seat.

"The bitch can't keep still, she's getting blood everywhere. Tell Pearl to cool her driving, this isn't Fast and Furious!" Snapped a sharp voice, the tone icier than Katherine's.

"Just keep her still, we're nearly there."

Nearly where? A panicked thought emerged.

The driven duration was agonizingly slow, and between the assault of Katherine's fist, and a small sob of regret for leaving the apartment, I had come to the understanding that I might in-fact die. It was a dramatic thought, one to which only caused the tears to trickle harder, though how could I deny this possible fate? I was a realist, a journalist, a soon-to-be-buried-ist.

What were Katherine's intentions? I wondered beneath the musky scented sack. She hadn't uttered much, aside from the casual threat, and hiss to keep quiet. I hadn't ever been frightened of a female before, but she summoned a hidden depth of emotion that hadn't been touched before. I felt childlike, opposed to the independent woman I had grown into.

With every teardrop, my strength weakened - like superman and kryptonite, I was slowly drained from every ounce of energy.

"Stop the van." Katherine spoke suddenly, her voice being the only sound in such tortuous silence. The hum of the engine had disappeared, as did the hoarse breath of the other accomplices. What had happened? Or better yet, what was going to happen?

Beneath the tightly attached bag, a sweat had formed upon my features, blinded from the ongoing scene, and blinded from the truth of this captured attack. I could taste the blood that oozed from many wounds, and feel the swell of bruised muscle. Would it get better before it got worse? I innerly questioned, listening out for another shout of snapped instruction.

Had I been abandoned?

"He's here-" Who's here? "-Get out of the van, and tell him to wait. I want to talk to the bitch before he can have her."

Katherine's wicked command was obeyed, the shuffle of feet and grunt of breath being detectable despite her hiss to remain silent. The sliding door slammed shut, and in the heat of sensed tension, a fist collided with that of my cheek. The already bruised bone throbbed with her second strike, and I reluctantly winced, turning away shamefully.

To this, she laughed; a cackle of dominance.

"This isn't how I wanted this to go, little Elena. Though you gave me no choice, I have to claim my title, I can't be broadcasted as a stepping stone. You should know that." She said, and it sounded like she was smiling. In an instant, a flash of light blinded me - prior to Katherine whipping off the potato sack - revealing the assault she had done on my features.

"Oh dear." Katherine disapproved, playing with the bag as she claimed her seat, perching opposite me. The artificial light stung every wound, and I had the undeniable urge to wipe away the blood that trickled, sticky and sore among my skin.

"What was the point in all of this? To warn me?" I eventually asked, my throat retracting the ache of such wording. I needed a drink of water, and the thought alone caused me to ache for hydration.

Katherine checked her manicure, buffing the edges along her thumb. "No. I know what damage you've already done, and I know all about you. I was warned, I didn't listen. I don't like listening." She muttered, matter-o-factly.

"You were warned about me?" I questioned, slightly taken aback.

"That's right, baby. A _friend _of mine, we go way back, he heard about our mishap with the little Cosmopolitan interview, and what a snarky bitch you were. He wanted to help, I let him. Isn't having information such a handy tool? Now I can tell Damon all about you murdering your family, sending your junkie brother away... among another little indiscretion." Katherine's catlike gaze flared with excitement as I stood, fury and rage boiling around every aching bone, a newfound sense of strength taking me.

"How _dare _you!" I snarled, resembling a starved animal.

Katherine bounced her heeled boot, watching with enjoyment, as if this was all some cable channel; maybe a dramatic series about a love story, and unhappy endings.

"I don't care if you fucked my boyfriend, Elena-"

"He isn't your boyfriend."

Katherine's nose crinkled with the sting of such truth, and a slight twitch in her lip indicated I had struck a weak spot. She recoiled without exposing too much of an ugly side. "I hope he finishes the job." Was all she spat, before raising upward, and wandering down the length of the spacious van, disappearing out the doored exit.

I hadn't registered the shackles that bounded me, denied from moving (aside from sitting to standing) and denied from freedom, I was utterly helpless.

"Hello, Elena."

The voice struck such fear, that breathing became suddenly impossible. This was the voice that had haunted every nightmare, and every shadow. It stalked, and crept, and now I was to face it, on a night of too much brutality.

There was no turning back.

_Elijah. _


	12. Safe and Sound

**[Disclaimer - I do not own the copyrights to the original characters or plot, those belong to the CW and The Vampire Diaries producers. This is simply a story conjured from my own imagination, and for that, those are the only rights I own.]**

* * *

><p>"She's hurt you. This wasn't part of the deal." He observed, perched on the same plastic bench Katherine had. His outstretched hand brushed the apple of my cheek, now swollen, a splash of purple paint on my tan canvas. I winced beneath the featherlight weight of his caress, both wary and nervous - like holding a bomb and not knowing the countdown until it exploded.<p>

"Deal?" I was brave enough to ask, unable to conceal the tremble in my tone. Elijah's stern jaw clenched, and his chin rose, looking over me with a sense of skepticism.

"Yes." He said, and his once light trace turning into a harsh grip, pinching my chin between his index finger and thumb - I couldn't help but whimper, squeezing either eye shut from nothing but nostalgic fear. Any minute now he would erupt, like he had in Chicago.

"I was informed to know, that you have found yourself a boyfriend. Is this correct?"

"Yes." I answered, suspecting Elijah would've already known every sordid detail. There was no point in lying now, it would only cause more inflicted pain.

"His name is _Damon_." It sounded more like an observation, though nether-the-less, I nodded - obeying, like the dog he had once trained me to be. "You have been unfaithful to me, Elena. I thought our love meant more to you."

Elijah sounded disappointed, and with disappointment, came rage.

_The bomb was slowly counting down._

"We separated-" I answered, and he seemed surprised to hear my voice, having always remained so quiet within his presence. "-Our relationship ended the moment I left Virginia, Elijah-"

The back of his hand - covered in sterling silver jewellery - whipped like thin leather among my cheek, the cheek he had once caressed. Through clenched teeth, I shrieked, unable to hide the aftermath of the attack. It was far more painful than what I had previously endured, Katherine's assault being childsplay in comparison.

Elijah readjusted his shirt sleeves, curling them past either wrist, not wanting to stain the exquisite material of the suit he lived in. "You have betrayed the love I have given you, Elena. You must pay for what you have done."

I begged, objected, shrunk beneath Elijah's shadow as he stood. I was a doe, both beautiful and innocent, in the eyeshot of a gun, ready to be beaten out of the body my youth had preserved.

All of this time I had spent running, fleeing, escaping the life of pain and torture, it had all ended to this.

_I was truly going to die. _

Elijah's palm raised, scarlet red from the previous slap. It swooped down, rather elegant, like a bird, and I found myself slowing, like time had prolonged, offering me a view of everything beautiful. The wrinkles in his hand, the chipped paint of the van, the inhuman beat of my heart... and the crash of the door as it flew open.

There, in the colourless light of day, was that man of mine.

_Damon. _

He flew forward, his jacket - the significant leather to which he wore that first day in the coffee shop - flew back as he pounced, a fearless lion attacking another. Elijah hissed, landing beneath Damon's muscled weight, accepting his fate.

Damon raised his fist, and thrashed it onto that of Elijah's chiseled structure, a spurt of blood bursting into the compressed air. Taking the opportunity, I shamelessly began sawing the poorly pieced chain, rubbing the metal against a sharp piece of the van, it slowly started to break, freeing an inch more of either wrist as the shearing continued.

Elijah retaliated, striking Damon's jaw in an attempt to shatter the cycle of every punch. Damon didn't ease, he only proceeded his assault at a quicker rate, causing a sickening sound of fractured bone to produce in the chilled air.

Elijah's skull bounced off the vehicle floor, resulting in an unconscious sleep, though Damon didn't stop. Once released from the shackled hold, I flew forward, just as my saviour once did. Two flames merged, a pairing in which was indestructible.

Grasping his muscled shoulder, Damon paused beneath it, revolving instantly, offering me a view of his face. Those eyes of bluest blue - a home in which I had should've stayed in - glanced back, and for a moment I couldn't speak, or react.

He had _saved _me.

And suddenly, I was in his arms, both safe and sound.

* * *

><p>The diner held an unattainable amount of safety. Perhaps it was the chattering, or maybe it was the sheer sum of families surrounding us, but somehow - for the first time in a long time - I felt sheltered and secure.<p>

Italian infused coffee slipped like silk down my throat, the caffeine relieving me of tiredness almost instantly. The blend tasted like summertime, when laughing wasn't forced, and smiling was second nature. Happiness seemed a millenium away, and I wondered when I'd ever be happy again.

Damon didn't speak, he was lost in that in-depth reverie, the one where his face was a consistent frown. From the corner of my eye, I noticed the waitress, she seemed starstruck by his presence, and irritated with mine.

"Another?" She grunted to me, eyeing the now empty cup that once consisted of coffee.

"Yes." Damon spoke, answering for me.

The waitress flashed a toothpaste clean smile, but he didn't notice, he was watching the window intently; as if it was his favourite movie.

When she was out-of-sight, I lent forward, whispering with an urgency for him to listen. "If I have anymore coffee, I'm going to need a pill to steady my heart rate. I'm not in shock, Damon, my sugar levels are fine."

He surveyed me from the corner of his eye, a hint of nothingness to the usual untamed blue. He looked like he didn't believe me.

"Are you going to say anything?" I questioned, and this time there was an echo of desperation to the enquiry. Damon noticed, and eventually broke from the frozen trance, settling into the booth with slight exasperation. I couldn't help but outstretch across the table, brushing him from wrist to elbow. His skin felt familiar, as did the hairs on his forearm, and even for a moment, I thought I could feel the faded freckles, the ones he had gotten from being sunburnt as a child.

Damon relaxed beneath my touch, and it almost made me smile.

"I don't know what to say to you, Elena." He murmured, and it sounded heavy, like a topic that was about to shatter the last of my strength. Promptly removing my hand, he stiffened again, though this time, wasn't ignorant enough to avoid my question.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"You and I, is this worth enough for me to be this selfish? You were kidnapped outside of my apartment, Elena." Damon's voice faded, the waitress setting the third cup of coffee down, offering another smile to which he ignored. Pushing the mug into the direction of Damon, he eyed it, though wasn't really looking at it.

"First Katherine, and now this new guy? This all began because of my selfishness, Elena, how can you sit here and share coffee with me?" Damon questioned, dropping his voice lower for a more private conversation.

Between hesitation and reluctance, I instinctively reached to brush the pained skin of my face. Even though the quick trip to the bathroom had helped with calming my horrific appearance, there was still one or two open gashes, dribbling with blood, and leaving a sticky residue. I felt like death incarnate.

"This so called _new guy _wasn't your fault, and neither was Katherine. Yes, me being acquainted with you probably provoked the kidnapping, though it was bound to happen, and I knew that when I kissed you back, and when I got into bed with you."

Damon and I's gaze met, naturally, a way of communicating without talking. If I could read his eyes, they'd whisper how tortured his mind was, and reveal every secret he had guarded with clenched teeth. Though at this very moment in time, they'd whisper one thing, and that would be...

_I want you._

I couldn't help but mirror that need and desire, unable to help but flutter my lashes. I felt worthy, even battered and bruised, he made me feel significant and beautiful.

"This new guy, he said your name. How did he know your name?" Damon mentioned, his voice hoarse.

There was a split second of compunction, where I wondered whether or not to lie, to pretend that my past was a picture book of wonderful things. Though somehow, I didn't want to be dishonest with him. He deserved more than that, especially after everything he had done.

"His name is Elijah." I began, introducing him through a shield of loathing. "The town I lived in - before New York - was owned by three founding families, The Decan's, The Gilbert's, and The Mikaelson's. The Mikaelson's owned a larger portion of the land, and after buying The Decan's share, they grew and began overrunning the town. My family - The Gilbert's - were stubborn, and the thought of offering their quarter of the land was barbaric. After a decade of dispute, they eventually settled on a deal, Elijah and I would get married, and when the eldest of the family died off, me and Elijah would share the town, fifty fifty. At first, he was charming, as most of the male population is, though he began to turn the further money got involved. He was made mayor at the age of twenty three, whilst I was still seventeen, and after that title was given to him, he became... worse. He beat me, and that's the simplest way of wording it. Years passed, and I worked and gained enough money, hoping to run off and take on a new identity. I made sure the last of my family were safe, and then I got a plane ticket, and left in the middle of the night. I hadn't seen Elijah for three years... until today."

Damon's expression hadn't changed, it was still stern - a constant frown taking his brow. There was silence for a few moments, a brief exchange of glances, before he outstretched his hand and took a long sample of coffee. He seemed to of needed it.

"How did he know where you were?"

"I don't know. Katherine said something about having the right information, I'm guessing she found out about my past." I shrugged, focusing on the table opposed to him.

Why did I feel so ashamed? I'd gotten away, hadn't I?

"Hey-" He grunted, catching my attention immediately. Glancing up briefly, beneath the thick band of lashes, there he was - finally looking found, instead of lost. "Once you and I walk out of this diner, we're a team, alright?"

"Damon-" I went to object, but he interrupted.

"Elena, I don't care. It's you and me."

I couldn't help but melt - I felt like a snowcone in Florida.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"I'm sure." He said.


End file.
